


Strays Usually Don't Get Along

by CallyDreams



Category: Gintama
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial, Drama & Romance, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallyDreams/pseuds/CallyDreams
Summary: One night sets fire to everything that has been smouldering between Gintoki and Hijikata over the years. Every little implication, every denied wish; all shall be turned over and for the love of god, don’t call it attraction. Because that’s not what we’re dealing with here, honestly, that’sunthinkable. Right?
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 211
Kudos: 719





	1. An Idiot Sees the Yellow Caution Tape, and Walks On

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place within the Gintama universe, following the original storyline -- we start off somewhere in between Shinsengumi Crisis arc and Baragaki arc. That said, Gintoki and Hijikata have already seen a fair deal of each other. Question is, is it ever enough? ♥️

It was a night like any other. 

Drink, forget, repent. _Repeat_. Gintoki saw no reason why it should be any more complicated than that. He was a man of simple needs, and the Edo nightlife provided for all his fundamental appetites; alcohol, games, sugar and women. All perfectly valid reasons for him to prowl the streets at night. If there was a something else fraying at his nerves at times, a sprinkle of restlessness haunting his steps once in a while, he didn’t pay it any attention. And why should he? 

That would be way too tiresome.

“They can hardly expect me to play the hero all day round,” he said, to no one in particular, as he sauntered down the well-known Kabukicho streets, arms crossed over his head.

Whoever said a man needed difficulties to keep healthy clearly wasn’t in their right mind. Gintoki, for one, needed a bit of decadence to stay sane. Ultimately he guessed that was what set him apart from the other brats. Straw Hat, Whiskers, Strawberry-kun and the likes were never seen staggering in the vague direction of home at 4 AM; puking their guts out on all fours in a back alley upon unceremoniously passing out among the trash cans. _Nope_. Such antics were reserved for a refined, proper adult like himself, who wasn't overly concerned with ambitions, dreams, training to get _stronger_ and other equally energy-draining concepts befitting a JUMP protagonist. 

In the end, he was getting by just fine without all of that. He had his hands full with more than he had bargained for, at any rate. Two troublesome kids plus an overly large pet which seemed impossible to house-train, the endless nuisances of simply _being_ the Yorozuya, and the stretches of sugar-infused lazing about in between jobs -- it was keeping him busy.

Busy enough not to go thinking about useless stuff.

Part of Gintoki was well aware that it was because of _them_ \-- Shinpachi, Kagura and the rest of the idiots inhabiting this unruly part of town, that he kept going. In essence, their role in his life, and their need of him, had become a crucial part of his own being; and somewhere along the road they had taught him how to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

Only, they didn't know that.

There really was no need for them to know everything. Nor did they need to know what kind of thing he spent the last of his meager savings on -- as Gintoki stopped under the warm light of red lanterns outside a cabaret club; admittedly neither the rent nor the kids’ long overdue paychecks were on the top of his mind.

_Later._

With a shrug, Gintoki entered the club. He was immediately approached by a cute red-haired hostess who greeted him with smiles and bows, before taking him to a vacant booth. Gintoki watched her pour him sake, all the while listening to her happy chattering about god knows what with half an ear. It was kind of comforting in itself, the setting, the alcohol -- he knocked the first cup back in one fluid motion before motioning for it to be refilled -- and he tried to think of that, instead of how the familiarity of the act also had him feeling a bit world-weary. A bit tired with the same old, a bit itchy to get dragged out of routine, maybe.

_Am I getting old?_

He glanced around the club cursorily, taking stock of it being pretty empty still, but for a few other customers occupying a sofa in the far corner, and some old men at the bar. Perhaps he should join them instead? Then he perceived the way many of the other hostesses were eyeing the redhead next to him with ill-concealed jealousy, and he had to reconsider. 

Being young had its perks, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, Gintoki wasn’t exactly disliked among the ladies. He couldn’t say why, but something in the way he carried himself usually had girls flustered and reluctantly drawn towards him; at one point or the other -- it was just how it was. Sometimes he felt like doing them, and sometimes he didn’t. 

The red-haired hostess smiled at him, pouring him another cup of sake, and Gintoki smiled back at her. So, this was starting to look like a pretty good night. A couple of cups later the anticipated effect of the sake marched in, doing its job splendidly by taking the edge of his restlessness and uniting body and mind; warmth licking his insides and undesired thoughts tapering off into blissed nullity.

The red-head seemed cuter than before, too, and Gintoki was sort of thinking he should probably give it a go before he got too drunk. 

“So, I was thinking, hostess-chan, what do you say you and I…” he started, peering at her from under his bangs, then trailed off; frowning as he noticed that she wasn’t actually looking at him anymore. Her eyes had gone sparkly in a new kind of way.

Gintoki wasn't drunk enough to miss that most of the hostesses in the club suddenly behaved in the same way, looking in the direction of the entrance with the air of a bunch of excited school girls. What now? The Shogun making another unexpected appearance? He grumbled inwardly as he turned his head in the direction of all the starry gazes.

It wasn’t the Shogun.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

Gintoki’s eyebrow twitched as he watched one of the Shogun’s most loyal dogs -- the demonic Vice-Chief is the Shinsengumi, in the flesh -- entering the club. 

_Why’re you here?_

Hijikata Toushirou was casually dressed in a dark yukata and sandals, a frown applied to his annoyingly handsome features, and the trademark cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as though it was fucking glued to his lips. Even out of uniform he managed to pull off that heavy, arrogant aura of his, which intimidated the shit out of most people.

Well.

Sakata Gintoki wasn’t most people. If there was something scary about the Vice Chief it’d be his disgusting obsession with mayonnaise, and his ability to _annoy_ the shit out of him, on occasion. It wasn’t exactly the first time they’d run into each other, either. Gintoki found it laughable, almost, seeing how _he_ certainly wasn’t searching the Mayo freak out, and he was pretty sure that Hijikata went out of his way to --

Wait a minute.

What if it was actually the other way around? What if the bastard was actively following him? Just to piss him off, or to keep a watchful eye on him, even. Wasn’t that what policemen generally did to keep themselves busy?

_Holding hands with the Gorilla now, are you?_

Gintoki snorted. For some idiotic reason, he couldn’t help but continuously stare at the prick. In fact, almost every eye in the club was following the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief walking towards one of the booths, a trail of smoke and three beaming hostesses in his wake.

_Hah! You don’t have to pretend you didn’t come here to see me! Gin-san knows all about your murky intentions, don’t you try wind me up by ignoring me!_

Having successfully convinced himself that Hijikata was more or less stalking him, Gintoki felt a bit antsy all the same. It might have been the undue attention the cop was receiving from the girls, or the way he managed to look so bloody good out of uniform, too -- either way Gintoki didn’t appreciate the competition, and he cursed the mayora freak for showing up and tainting his night of fun _._ He habitually ignored every other emotion connected to that spark of irritation. 

Honestly. Could an old man not have a drink in peace? 

Sitting back in his seat again, Gintoki crossed his arms over his chest. Hijikata, seemingly unfazed by the riot his presence was causing amongst the hostesses, sat down at a table not far from his, without shooting so much as a glance in his direction. From this angle, though still within earshot, Gintoki couldn’t even properly see him anymore. 

He’d do well taking a few lessons from his gorilla boss in the Great Art of Pursuing the Unwilling, Gintoki thought; seeing how the bastard almost made it look like he wasn't there to keep an eye on him at all. Like, he was actually there to get himself poured a couple of drinks and that was that. No ulterior motives at all.

_Yeah, right!_

Picking up his cup of sake, Gintoki forced himself not to crane his neck and take a peek at the police officer. That wasn’t his job, dammit. Nor was it his job to listen in to the unlikely group -- the Vice-Chief surrounded by simpering females in lieu of the usual bunch of rowdy policemen was downright weird -- but it wasn’t like he could help it either, could he? 

“Hey, Vice-Commander-san, would you like some dom peri?” One of the hostesses offered in a sickenly sweet voice.

“Thanks. Top it off with some mayonnaise, please.” 

Gintoki screwed up his face in disgust. Even from where he sat, he could practically hear the hostesses confused thoughts rattling in the silence, trying to decipher if the Vice Chief was serious or not.

_Sorry to inform you girls, but this guy isn’t capable of joking. He’s the kind to pour that shit into his drink and he doesn’t give a monkeys if he’s grossing everyone out. Deal with it._

“V-Vice-Commander-san?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, Vice-commander-san! We haven’t been stocking up on mayonnaise lately!”

_Clink._

Was that a glass shattering? Gintoki had no trouble summoning a mental image of Hijikata’s darkening forehead at those words. 

“No? And how’s that my problem? How am I supposed to drink this now? It’s clearly missing its vital ingredient!”

_Your head! Your head’s missing a vital ingredient, goddamnit!_

“We’re so sorry, Vice-Commander-san! We’ll send someone to buy some mayonnaise, immediately! In the meanwhile, will you please enjoy this glass of dom peri with a... different topping?” the hostess speaking had gone from apologetic to alluring, her voice practically dripping with dirty innuendos. 

“Hnn?” 

_How did you NOT pick up on that one?! You complete block-head, you’re hopeless, hopeless!_

Hijikata seemed to have accepted the drink however, as he fell into silence and the voices of the hostesses were becoming less strained. One of them dared approach him again, even.

“Say, Vice-Commander-san, we haven’t seen you here before...”

“No?” Hijikata’s voice carried traces of weariness. “I guess not.”

“Don’t be silly, Riku-chan!” another hostess chided. “You should know how busy the Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi must be! He doesn’t have time for fun and games at all hours like the rest of them!”

“I’m sorry, Miko-sempai. Hi--Hijikata-san,” the first girl stuttered, sounding a little dejected.

“No”, the hostess called Miko continued importantly. “This man, unlike certain others frequenting this place, has got a _job_ to do. And an important one at that! Protecting us from terrorist by keeping the streets of Edo safe, is there a more honorable thing to do?”

At this, Gintoki had to stifle a loud cough. He was pretty damn sure the Shinsengumi wouldn’t be held in such high regard if word got out that the top brass consisted of a bunch of disgraceful stalkers.

“Yeah, well. Whatever.” Hijikata’s detached voice, neither rebuking nor wholeheartedly agreeing, seemed only to spur the hostesses on.

“That’s what I always say!” a third one butted in. “In fact, if it weren’t for the Shinsengumi I doubt I would have dared going into this line of work at all, what with all the shady types sneaking around our clubs nowadays.”

_That’s obviously a lie! You’d be here even if Edo was run by solely Amanto!_

“Really?” Hijikata’s tone was one of utmost disinterest, Gintoki could more or less see him turning his head to stare into nothingness.

“Schh, Aiko-chan! Can’t you see the Vice-Commander needs some rest and peace? Really, now,” Miko scolded the third one, and Gintoki heard the possessive purr in her voice as she presumably leaned in closer to Hijikata. “May I light that for you, Vice-Commander?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

_Whyyy on earth are you going with the flow, so easily! It sickens me! It sickens me to death!_

A familiar scent of tobacco flooded Gintoki’s nostrils, and although he didn’t dislike the smell of cigarettes, it sure as hell bothered him now.

In the meanwhile, the red-haired hostess was reluctantly redirecting her attention back to him, offering him a mildly apologetic smile before pouring him another cup of sake. Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he’d been as immersed in the newcomer as she’d been.

_What the hell? Gin-san’s losing it here, and there’s not even one to comment on this shit. Am I transparent? A ghost am I? Someone fetch me back my body!_

“I’m sorry Sakata-san. We don’t usually receive such respectable guests. I mean, it’s a bit unusual..” She paused as she perceived the dead look Gintoki was giving her. She giggled nervously. “Yes, about that. You were saying something earlier?”

“Forget it”, Gintoki cut her short, rising languidly from his seat. “I have something to do.”

_And it’s not you._

. . . 

It was a night unlike any other.

Drink, forget, repent -- Hijikata preferred doing such a thing alone, and had never quite seen the appeal of cabaret clubs. Even in the midst of the experience, he still didn't understand what the fuss was all about. Leaning back, he took a long drag on his cigarette, doing his best to ignore his aching back, and general discomfort.

Normally, alcohol had a nice dulling effect on his stiff body and weary mind, strained as usual with work. Lately, it had dished out various unpleasantries in terms of whining bakufu officials, soul-crushingly boring stake-out missions, mountains of paperwork and one major cover up action after a gorilla, looking suspiciously like the Shinsengumi Commander, had been seen humping a lamp-post in broad daylight. 

Was it too early to retire at the age of 27?

Hijikata ran a tired hand over his face. He pretty much _was_ his job, so even thinking about retirement was stupid -- he was certain beyond any doubt that he was the kind to die in the line of duty. In the end, one of the few things granting him real satisfaction was the bloody scraps and hunt-downs occasionally provided by police work. This week, there hadn't even been that; no well-deserved red for his blade to taste, nothing to temporarily sate his hunger, his ungratified need for _what;_ he wasn’t even sure himself.

Hijikata partly suspected this restlessness was the underlying cause for him leaving the barracks tonight. For him not to go drink at one of his usual joints, comfortably accompanied by the kind of quiet bar owners and unobtrusive street vendors he normally preferred with his alcohol; something was surely a bit off, but he was not even close to realising what else he might be needing. 

Really.

Him ending up in Kabuki District was nothing but the result of an aimless night time stroll -- he had just entered the first dingy-looking establishment he had come across. Doing something that wasn’t part of his usual routine had felt crucial at the time. Now, he already regretted the half-assed decision to enter the club. The hostesses seemed intent on talking him into a coma, and if he’d been expecting some sort of thrill at the presence of a bunch of perfume-smelling, chirping girls, it was made conspicuous by its absence. 

He should have gone to Yatai Guchiri-Ya. This was getting worse by the minute. And, as that thought ambled by Hijikata’s tired mind, the very definition of worse decided to make an entrance.

_To hell with it all. Just, to hell with it._

As though being way outside his comfort zone wasn’t enough, of course he’d run into this one idiot not knowing the meaning of the word.

_Why do you have to turn up wherever I go?! Please, please turn around and leave! Be gone!_

Mental mantras did unsurprisingly not work on Sakata Gintoki. The moron was looking his usual bored-out-of-his-mind self, eyes half-lidded and silver hair in its state of perpetual -- _unforgivable_ \-- disorder, as he sauntered up to Hijikata’s table with the air of someone who’d actually been called over. 

_No one did!_

“Evening, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki greeted him in his toneless kind of way. “Fancy meeting you here, of all places. Who’d have thought, hnn?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hijikata huffed, instantly annoyed as he leant forward and stubbed out his cigarette, a bit too fervently. He knew the guy was bad news, and that he would probably do best just to get up and leave at this point, but he was in no mood to give him the satisfaction of that, either.

The Yorozuya gave him an impassive stare.

“It’s not supposed to mean anything, Hijikata-kun,” he shrugged, looking for all the world like the subject did not interest him in the slightest, yet droned on. “I was just surprised is all, to see the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief in this kind of establishment, I mean, the yakuza might start to get suspicious if you frequent clubs like --”

“I don’t!” Hijikata interjected heatedly. ”I’m rarely in this fucking district at all!”

“No?” Gintoki tapped a finger against his chin, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Well, I must say, for someone’s who’s not, you sure look real comfortable. Hogging all the ladies like that, you sure you’re not a regular?”

Hijikata had to bite his tongue in order not to repeat himself, and instead grit out: “I don’t wanna hear that from someone who looks like he was fucking born in this pigsty.” 

The insult had a disturbing counter-effect on the Yorozuya, who was breaking into a shit-eating grin.

“Really? Why, thank you~.”

“That’s not meant as a compliment, idiot.”

“Pff, I don’t read too much into what you’re saying Hijikata-kun, it’s what you’re not saying that’s really interesting.”

“What? I‘m not _not_ saying anything, goddamnit!”

“So you came here because of me,” Gintoki nodded to himself, pensively, as though he hadn’t heard Hijikata at all. “Well, it _does_ make more sense, I guess.”

“What makes sense?!” Hijikata bristled, well-known rage welling up inside him as he brought his fists down hard at the table, causing the hostesses to collectively jump in their seats. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!”

“Really now. You do have this tendency of showing up wherever I go, Hijikata-kun. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d start making assumptions in this kind of situation.”

“ _I_ have a tendency of showing up wherever _you_ go?” Hijikata snarled, trying and failing to take a deep calming breath. “I don’t even know how to reply to something so idiotic, honestly -- even if I were paid a million yen I wouldn’t voluntarily go near you!”

Gintoki took on a wounded look, pouting slightly as he looked around the hostesses for support.

“What do you say ladies? Isn’t this guy a little too transparent in his need to deny this? If he hadn’t been following --”

“SHUT UP!” Hijikata bellowed, feeling the last bit of his cool slipping away into nothingness. “Who’d follow you?! Don’t lump me together with that pervert ninja stalker of yours, I’ll kill you!” 

“Kill me? Kill an innocent civilian going about his business? Don’t be rash, Vice-Chief~”

“Some very shady business, I’m sure!”

“Nothing shady about it, I assure you,” Gintoki continued happily. “I’m having a bit fun is all, something all men are entitled to, every now and then. Even police officers, it seems.” 

The bastard was all grins and shrugs again. There was the slightly unusual addition of a flush across his cheeks, though; one that Hijikata kind of hated himself for noticing. So what if the bastard was drunk. It was none of his concern.

None.

_That stupid face of yours, I’ll smash it in one day, I swear. I’ll do it, I’ll definitely do it!_

It was no use though. Hijikata enjoyed a little moment of mature reasoning, and applying some sort of mental cooling creme to his burning nerves; he came to the conclusion that the only way to get rid of the stupid asshole would be to ignore him. That way, the Yorozuya would be bored with the lack of reaction on his part, and leave.

Presumably.

So, while lightning up another cigarette, he remained silent, and pointedly directed his gaze away from the silver haired samurai. The hostesses, who had all withdrawn a little during the exchange of words between them, scrambled back around him, all eager to pour him a drink. Hijikata sighed inwardly; concentrating on his slowly burning cigarette he steeled himself in order not to order them all to commit seppuku on the spot.

The Yorozuya included.

“Oi, Hijikata-kun,” a vein popped at Hijikata’s temple at the sound of that lazy-ass voice ringing out again _._

_I’m ignoring you, get the hint already, idiot!_

“...”

“Hijikata- _kuuun_ ~”

“WHAT?!”

“I was just wondering, is it really okay for you to smoke your disgusting cigarettes in here? Ever heard of this thing called second hand smoke?”

“This is a goddamn cabaret club!”

“Yeah, about that -- it must be an environmental problem in this line of work, right girls?” Gintoki asked loftily, looking Hijikata straight in the eye. “Is this good sir disturbing you? Because if that’s the case there’s someone right here more than willing to --”

“I don’t wanna hear that from someone whose sole existence is disturbing people, dammit!” Hijikata snapped, biting off his cigarette in the process; why, apparently he could not even have a smoke in peace. “Stupid perm head!”

Something about the way Gintoki’s face twisted told him that he wasn’t the only one out of cooling creme. 

“How dare you insult Gin-san’s hair in front of the ladies?! You’re pissing me off!”

“You’re the one pissing me off, scumbag!”

They were at each other’s throats in a split second. Gintoki grabbed him by the collar, more or less dragging him over the table, and Hijikata wasted no time replying in kind, clutching the Yorozuya’s yukata tightly as they came eye to eye. He glared into vehement red with the intention of _crushing_ something, fists shaking and teeth set in a furious snarl, and he was immensely provoked by how _angry_ the other samurai looked, as though he had the fucking right when it was him being the asshole, right?

“My hair’s naturally wavy, naturally!”

“SO WHAT?! I don’t care! Just get the hell out of here, already!”

“ _I_ should get out?! You’ve gotta be kidding me! I was here first! _You_ get out, dammit!”

“Shut the fuck up! I was here first!”

“I was here the first of the firsts!”

“I was here before you even thought about being the first of the firsts!”

“Well, I was born here! Didn’t you say so?! Shitty Mayora!”’

This was getting old. Yet Hijikata could not, _would_ not, back down. Something about Gintoki just aggravated him to the core of his being, causing him to see red and revert right back to the unruly ronin he had once been. As the insults grew fiercer, there was only a matter of time before fists were out and flying; alongside bottles, glasses and furniture, as they fought it out in the middle of the club. One hostess screamed as she ran for the bar, presumably to get the owner, another hid behind a toppled over table, her hands covering her mouth. Hijikata wasn’t aware of any of it, though. 

All he could see was silver. 

All he could feel was the blood pumping through his veins as they fought it out; a punch to his chin, something going numb and then the wondrous surge of power as his fist connected with Gintoki’s chin. 

All he could smell were strawberries, and something else. Something throwing him off in ways he refused to acknowledge but which was still evidently _there_. Hijikata was sure he had always hated the sweet scent the other man gave off, but as it was, being locked in this useless scuffle with him, there was also this other musky, overpowering scent of Gintoki himself, imposing on his senses. Hijikata simply couldn’t help but inhale it.

He smelled... good.

_What the hell?!_

The next thing he knew, he and the Yorozuya were more or less simultaneously grabbed by the scruffs of their necks, much like one would carry a pair of kittens -- and promptly tossed out of the club through the backdoor, and into the dark alleyway.

“And don’t you dare show your pathetic mugs here again!” roared someone Hijikata distantly realised must be the giant Mama-san of the club; a woman of monstrous strength indeed. With that, the door was slammed shut.

A moment of dumbstruck silence followed as the two samurais sprawled where they had landed next to each other on the ground amongst trash cans and waste. Hijikata could feel the chilly night air against his skin in the strange stillness. In the next moment, as if on cue, they both scrambled to their feet, panting and huffing and cursing Mama-san under their breath. 

Straightening his back and routinely reaching for his pack of cigarettes from inside his yukata, Hijikata found he must have dropped it during their pointless fight. What’s more, the garment was more or less ruined, the front ripped open and coming off his shoulders.

 _Tch. It’s all your fault!_

His lower lip pulsated in dull pain from where Gintoki had landed a hit on him just before, and he felt a bit sore all over -- not that he had any intention of letting the stupid perm head know about that. He gave the Yorozuya a fleeting look, noting that he wasn’t fairing much better. He was still breathing a bit raggedly, an ugly bruise already blooming up his neck, and it was with no little satisfaction Hijikata observed the blood trickling down his left eye. Obviously he had managed to bust open his eyebrow. 

For some unfathomable reason however, the bastard was smiling.

_What’s wrong with you?_

There was no denying it -- fighting Sakata Gintoki held a charm of its own. It was limited to that though. Hijikata wished for no more contact whatsoever with the hopeless idiot, he knew it was bound to go nowhere good, he _knew._ That _something,_ that indefinite elation dancing across the Yorozuya’s face; was quite frankly giving him the chills.

_I’m leaving. Before this shithead goes and says something unnecessary, I’m definitely leaving. I need cigarettes. I want to go drink by myself and forget all about this._

He had already turned to walk away when Gintoki’s complaining voice cut through his weary consciousness like a knife.

“You happy now? Sullying Gin-san’s reputation like that, you truly have no shame you stupid mayora.” 

_Who’s happy? I’m never happy!_

Hijikata turned back to roar at the Yorozuya, despite himself: “Your reputation couldn’t be any more sullied! It's already fucking dirty enough to pixelate your face most of the time!”

“Who’s pixelated?!” Gintoki’s voice was hoarse with anger again. Anger, and something else. “You damn well should be! Looking all messed-up and inviting like that! There’s only so much a man can take, you know!”

_Now what the hell are you on about?_

Hijikata gaped for a moment, dumbfounded. He stared into Gintoki’s uncharacteristically eloquent eyes, feeling his head spin, ever so slightly. This was new. The rotten bastard was hinting at something unspeakable and Hijikata didn’t want to know what it was. 

He really didn’t.

And still, that red gaze suddenly felt hot on him. It swept over him like a wave of warm water, flushing his skin and why did he feel so weirdly exposed by it? All at once, Hijikata was becoming aware of his state of half-undress and stupidly self-conscious about the way his hair, which normally behaved, fell in his eyes, all ruffled and untidy.

_Shit._

“You bastard, what are you implying?” he grunted, unconsciously fumbling for the pieces of clothing that had come loose, trying to put it back and failing miserably.

“I’m not implying anything,” the Yorozuya told him soberly, red eyes continuing their shameless path down his body. “I’m _saying_ , you’re looking hella lewd right now, Vice-Chief. It must be some kind of disorderly conduct, running around Kabukicho looking like that. Gin-san’s got urges, you know.”

“The hell are you saying?! I’m gonna arrest you, you perverted freak!” Hijikata bellowed, finding foothold in the familiar realms of anger. He refused to address the fact that the bastard’s absurd behaviour was causing blood to rush to his cheeks.

“Well, I had a feeling you’d go and say that,” Gintoki straightened up and casually wiped the blood from his eye with the back of his hand. “Thing is, if there’s one thing I’m sure about right now, it’s that you’re not on duty tonight, Hijikata-kun.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m on duty or not!” Hijikata hissed.

“You sure?” Gintoki drawled, moving closer to him, a somewhat predatory grin breaking through his darkening face. “It just so happens that it matters to _me_ , having stumbled on a police officer off-duty on _my_ night off-duty, you see? He’s kind of bullheaded, too, so it seems I just have to take the matter into my own hands.”

_What are you talking about?!_

Why was it, as the distance between them was being reduced with an alarming speed, Hijikata felt himself rooted to the spot, not capable of thinking straight or even denying all the confusing crap spilling out of Gintoki’s mouth.

Perhaps it was surprise which locked him in place.

He rarely saw this serious part of the Yorozuya at all, not to say this carnal kind of look on his face; and he had the hardest time processing that it was presently _him_ at the receiving end. Had he actually hit the bastard hard enough to make a screw come loose? Or was he just the kind to get turned on by all things moving while inebriated?

Either way, Hijikata could not take his eyes off him. Or, properly breathe.

“You’re drunk, jerk,” he muttered, and he took a step backwards, finally moving -- only to find his back connecting with the brick wall. 

_Shit shit shit_.

Gintoki’s grin was widening as he came to a stop in front of him, too bloody close; their chests were merely centimetres apart.

“Yeah, well.”

Gintoki’s eyes were dark, gaze intense enough to make Hijikata’s skin crawl and he wanted to yell at him to fucking _stop_ whatever it was he was doing but no words found their way out of his mouth. Somehow, the tension was gathering high in his throat, and that intoxicating smell the Yorozuya gave off came washing over him with renewed force, dulling his senses in an awful, pleasant way.

_I hate you, I really do._

Uselessly, Hijikata wished his ruined yukata would’ve covered more. He wished Gintoki wouldn’t insist on being this obnoxious person in a situation like this. He wished he knew why his heart made a slow, almost painful sort of roll, as the idiot leant in even closer -- almost as if to kiss him. 

. . . 

Was it being hit, or yelled at, or looked at with disgust, or provoking the stupid mayonnaise addict until his cheeks went red; Gintoki didn't know. He just happened to suddenly crave it, the way one craves strawberry milk at 2am in the morning -- with the entirety of one’s being.

And whose fault was that?

He wanted to say that something, or someone, was possessing him; Rei, any random ghost, Sadaharu even. He wished that he could pin his behaviour on Buddha -- _or why not Enma?_ \-- but there was also a part of him fully aware of his own want.

The shitty cop had managed to ignite something in him, which in itself was no surprise -- he usually did -- it was just that, that spark had taken on quite a different shade tonight, and Gintoki knew it. As they locked eyes now, Hijikata showed no signs of retreating, although it was him being physically cornered. In fact, there was something profoundly defiant about his stance, the way he refused to look away, his gaze breathing adamant resistance; somehow endearingly non-compatible with his bright red cheeks.

_Are you blushing, Hijikata-kun? Is Gin-san too close?_

Gintoki longed to tease him, but strangely enough, the words failed him. That wasn't a regular occurrence. He felt something constrict in his throat, and had to swallow, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Sure, the alcohol he’d been consuming that night probably had a role to play in that, but he wasn’t near drunk enough to be feeling this giddy with god knows what, this out of control of his own actions. Really, it was mainly the mayora freak’s doing; winding him up so badly upon pulling such a seductive look out of nowhere. 

Now he had to pay for it. 

Gintoki placed his hands against the brick wall, and Hijikata startled, as though he was finally catching on, and his hands came up to push at his shoulders; not nearly hard enough _._ Gintoki didn’t feel like complying to such a half-assed demand. Though nothing else about his intentions were particularly well outlined, he was suddenly very sure about the fact that he couldn’t let the mayonnaise addict off the hook so easily, whatever the hell that was about. He had to prevent him from making any further moves, he had to lean in closer, had to latch on to that neck -- 

_Oh._

This intense need, one he seldom felt, was welling up inside of Gintoki as his lips connected with the warm skin of Hijikata’s neck. It was intolerably soft, not quite what he’d expected, and why? The bastard didn’t smell of flowery perfume, and he certainly didn't taste even a little bit sweet; it was rather a rough combination of soap and musk and cigarettes, a salty tang to his skin -- very manly, very not-like-anything-else. Inhaling that smell, the essence of Hijikata, it was Gintoki’s turn to startle, secretly, at how appealing he found it.

_Right. I should probably stop this._

That, was easier said than done, though. Gintoki normally didn’t restrain himself when it came to this kind of thing, and albeit being in a slightly different predicament with Mr Law here, he found that his body and mind were once again on bad terms -- actually, it seemed they barely spoke at all.

Idly licking at a patch of skin just under Hijikata’s ear, he picked up on the most incongruous little piece about it all -- the cop’s hands, which had pushed fervently at his chest a moment ago, they were falling away. _What?_ For a second, Gintoki almost panicked. _This is not how you’re supposed to react, bastard!_ He did not know what he had expected, but certainly not this strange little act of… compliance? Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

He needed to know. Slowly, Gintoki continued his biting-kissing trail along Hijikata’s neckline, letting his teeth grate over the sensitive skin just so and breathing hotly into a reddening ear -- 

Hijikata was _shuddering._

_Seriously?_

It caught Gintoki unawares, how clearly he perceived the other man’s arousal. There was no mistaking the way his breath was turning heavy, how he struggled to choke back a moan, to no avail -- the sound came out muffled and lewd, and damn if it didn’t go straight to Gintoki’s groin. 

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

To be fair, Gintoki did try to push the pause button at this point. He heard the very faint, dwindling voice of reason going on about stopping and thinking, but well. It was not as strong as the deep burn at the base of his back, that hotness coiling around his spine at the realisation that he had Hijikata _moaning_ from just a little bit of neck kissing.

He found his voice again. It was dropping low as he spoke into the cop’s ear: 

“Still in the mood to arrest me, Hijikata-kun?”

“If you don’t shut up, Yorozuya, who the fuck knows what’ll happen.”

Gintoki raised his head. Under the tousled dark hair falling down Hijikata’s forehead, he glimpsed a troubled sort of look on his face, in odd opposition to his sharp eyes; which had taken on a defiant glint, almost daring. 

So, Gintoki had to kiss him.

It was not part of any plan, like everything else leading up to this little moment of debauchery; it just sort of happened. Gintoki felt like doing it, recognised that maybe it wasn’t the bloody first time he had felt like doing it, either. This was simply the first time he actually followed through on that particular urge. 

So, this was what kissing Hijikata was like.

Now he didn’t have to subconsciously wonder about that anymore. 

What a relief.

Right?

_Fuck._

Gintoki realised what a giant idiot he’d been as soon as their mouths smashed together. A surprised kind of yelp escaped Hijikata, and perhaps there was a moment of muffled protests and awkward teeth-knocking-against-teeth, but it was way too short-lived; too brief to be remembered as the heat came, engulfing them. 

_Fuck fuck fuck._

Hijikata was kissing him back. His hands, normally only ever coming close to Gintoki’s face for punching purposes, were grabbing his neck, warm and steady -- pulling him closer still, and deepening the kiss.

 _And fuck._

It was mind-blowing. Gintoki was pretty much helpless to the way his body responded to the crudeness of Hijikata’s touch, the unfamiliar feel of his lips against his, it just set his entire being aflame; heart somersaulting its way around his ribcage and his cock, well. Hard as rock. He had but an indistinct inkling at this point, but something about the way Hijikata moved against him, his hands slipping up along his neck and grabbing fistfuls of hair, told him that the shitty cop was enjoying this a great fucking deal more than he should, too.

Testing this theory before he ran out of self-control completely, Gintoki pressed in closer, unabashedly nudging a knee up in between his legs in a way he was certain would piss Hijikata off badly enough to hit him senseless. 

Surely.

No?

Hijikata was still kissing him. He was still kissing him, and Gintoki could feel that unmistakable hardness against his leg, and there were just no more fucks to be given. The arousal was like a heavy blanket over his mind, clouding his ability to think -- highlighting the fact that this was probably the first time he’d ever felt such a deep thrill at the sheer prospect of fucking someone.

Never mind that someone happened to be the Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi, and very, well -- male.

_Oh, well._

“Hey, Hijikata-kun,” he broke the kiss to murmur into Hijikata’s ear. “This is making me -- ”

There was a loud bang as the backdoor to the club was flung open once again.

“You still here?!” Mama-san was screeching. “I thought I told you to scram already!”

In a beat of dazed confusion, the two of them froze. Chests heaving, faces burning, eyes flashing with sudden anger at being interrupted -- Gintoki was but vaguely aware of how alike he and Hijikata must have looked in that very moment. 

“And that!” She pointed a shaking finger at them, seemingly realising they were not necessarily fighting anymore. “I will have none of it! Not in my club, not outside it! I don’t care whether you’re fighting or screwing, you’ll scare my customers off! Take it somewhere else!”

And with another loud bang, she had slammed the door shut again.

There was a moment of dense silence, then Hijikata shouldered past him, leaving the space he had just occupied, warm and wanting against Gintoki’s body, strangely empty. Gintoki didn’t know if he felt relieved or angry about that. Either way, his chest tightened uncomfortably at the sight of Hijikata’s rigid back, moving towards the streetlights, away from him.

“Hey, Vice-Chief,” he heard himself call out. “Where are you going?”

Hijikata paused mid-step, and without turning to look at Gintoki, shot back grouchily: ”None of your damn business.”

“I could make it my business, surely.”

“Shut the hell up, Yorozuya. I’m leaving.”

“But we were having such a good time, for once,” Gintoki complained, dully. His skin was still prickly with the lingering heat of that good time.

At this, Hijikata turned his head a fraction, just enough for Gintoki to catch a glimpse of his face in profile. His expression was hard, eyes guarded under furrowed eyebrows, jaw set in an unforgiving line; cheeks still burning a bright, lovely red.

Gintoki agonised -- _why did I have to notice that?_ \-- then hated Hijikata for not saying something, and hated him some more for resuming his walk as though he hadn’t heard him at all, or more likely -- simply decided he wouldn't dignify his comment with an answer.

 _You forgot something, you stupid asshole._ Gintoki was tempted to call out again but decided against it. Reaching inside his yukata, he pulled out the packet of cigarettes he had snatched during their fight; crumpling it in his hand. If the cop was going to be a prick about this, it was his funeral. He wouldn't let it ruin his night.

He had some binge drinking to do.

. . .


	2. Mind Your Cholesterol Levels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on episode 156 "It takes a Bit of Courage to Enter a Street Vendor's Stand"; those of you remembering should know this was more or less set up for us ;)

Yatai Guchiri-Ya, also known as The Whinery, had four rules.

_1\. Come alone.  
_ _2\. Complain all you want.  
_ _3\. If there’s a familiar face, pretend that you don’t know them.  
_ _4\. Forget everything you hear and don’t tell a soul._

It suited Hijikata Toushirou perfectly. For the most part, he just came to this particular street vendor stand to drink in blessed solitude. Every now and then, he had one or two complaints, no use in denying that, but mostly he wanted to drink in peaceful silence. 

“Here you go, Mayo Samurai-san,” the old street vendor smiled his toothless smile at Hijikata, who accepted the cup of sake and the bottle of mayonnaise habitually. 

“Thanks, Gramps.”

This was alright. This was, almost like, normal.

“It’s been a while since I saw you this quiet. Is something the matter?” the old man inquired conversationally. “Is that Gorilla Boss of yours causing you trouble again?” 

Hijikata sighed deeply as he lit up a cigarette. He almost wished for that to be true; for Princess Bubbles to come back and kidnap the Commander so that he could chase after him. Presently, a life at Planet Gorilla did not seem all that bad. 

“Not really.”

“The other one, then? The Trigger Happy Sadist Brat?”

Hijikata gave a half-grunt, shrugging as he blew out some smoke. He didn’t really want to think about Sougo, either. In all honesty, he had gone to ridiculous lengths to avoid the little terror lately. Ever since that blasted night at the hostess club, the Captain of the First Squad had walked around with an ominous expression, eyes taking on a new kind of malicious glee as soon as he spotted the Vice-Chief, making his hair stand on end. Something, and Hijikata didn’t wish to know what, was making Sougo really happy.

“No? I’m guessing we’re talking about the Rotten Perm Head, then,” the old man concluded matter-of-factly. “I thought you said he was the least of your problems.”

“He is!” Hijikata hissed, the instant need to deny the very existence of Sakata Gintoki welling up inside his chest, threatening to tilt his world of its axis. “It’s not a problem, I don’t care about him,” he rambled as he emptied his cup of sake, stubbornly looking away from the street vendor’s knowing smile.

“So you keep telling me, Mayo Samurai-san.” Something like concern was colouring the kind voice. “Seeing you fret like this however, I must assume this person is causing you quite a lot of trouble.”

_Now THAT’S an understatement._

Hijikata merely groaned as he put out his cigarette and leant forward to rest his elbows against the counter, grabbing his spinning head with both hands. Pressing his thumbs hard against his temples he wished he could just _erase_ that dreadful incident from his memory, and everything, _everyone_ , connected to it, for that matter.

_Go away, go away, go away._

This should not be so much of a problem as it presented itself, and Hijikata was disgusted with himself for being so useless at dealing with it. He had his ways of forgetting, well-tried as they were by now. His regrets were countless and he was not unfamiliar with the procedure at all; he normally dealt with pain and everything in between in a very business-like manner. Bury it, bury it deep as it could possible be buried. Smoke. Work away like a maniac and don’t look back. Order Yamazaki to commit seppuku. Smoke. Avoid Sougo at all costs. Smoke. Simple as that, really. 

_I should never have broken that routine._

Then, of course, there were certain things, which fucking refused to stay buried.

It would be so much easier to let bygones be bygones if they didn’t insist on popping up everywhere. Work, as in patrol the streets of Edo, had become a nerve wracking affair. Nowhere was safe. Unwanted visions could come at him at any time, from anywhere. A shock of silver hair; behind an umbrella, a store curtain, or a JUMP magazine. A flash of a white yukata with swirly blue patterns entering a sweet shop, a pachinko parlor, a cabaret club. A pair of broad, solid shoulders walking off in the distance, down any street; never really there but never truly absent, either. 

_Am I actually going insane?_

This was the worst part; Hijikata was not even sure he’d actually seen the silver haired idiot one single time during these past few weeks. As it was, he was getting convinced it was probably his sick mind playing tricks on him. Once he’d even spotted an ugly-looking white cat sauntering through Kabukicho and distinctly felt that those half-lidded red eyes were way too familiar.

_I am, I really am._

“Oi, Gramps, am I correct in thinking that there are more than one million people living in this town?” Hijikata asked wearily, head still in his hands.

“I’m not sure, but it could very well be,” the old man nodded. 

“Let’s suppose that it is. Then, out of this million people, what is the likelihood that I should, at repeated occasions, run into _one_ of them?” 

“That doesn’t sound like likelihood at all, Mayo Samurai-san,” the old man told him grimly, and something in his voice made Hijikata lift his head and look at him. 

“What are you saying, Gramps?”

“That sounds like fate.”

_Oiiiiii!_

“I already told you! It’s nothing like that!” Hijikata snapped, unconsciously bringing both of his fists down hard at the counter, making the wood creak. 

“If you say so, Mayo Samurai-san.” The street vendor seemed unfazed by his outburst, and calmly poured him another cup of sake. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that,” Hijikata muttered, running a tired hand over his face. “What I meant to say is, that I’m cursed, more like it.” 

“That makes two of us.”

The casual, all-too-real voice of Sakata Gintoki hit Hijikata’s already bruised consciousness like a sledgehammer. It was a little bit too coincidental to be nothing but another stupid illusion; but the way his body reacted -- ice suddenly running through his veins, hand frozen over his eyes -- told him he was not so fortunate. Sure as fate, the smell came floating, carrying traces of strawberries and white musk, smearing his senses in that highly disturbing scent before he had the chance to close off his intake of air. 

_Because that’s a solution that would work in the long run, huh?!_

Hijikata berated himself furiously. He didn’t feel like lifting his hand and look at the other man, nor did he wish to show him his face. As it was, he was not sure he was able to veil the panic at how hard his heart was pounding just from hearing the idiot _speak_ , whatever that was about. His mind engaged in a mantra of refusal.

_No, no, no, no, no, no. I don’t think so. Not today, mister. Not today._

“Oh, good evening, Danna,” the street vendor greeted the newcomer. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain, Ojiisan. Can’t complain.”

A vein popped at Hijikata’s temple at the happy-go-lucky attitude the Yorozuya was pulling off, and he greeted the annoyance with relief. This, he could make sense of. Sense enough for him to finally lower his hand and pick up his cup of sake, at least. He took great care not to look at anything but that cup, though.

“I’d have thought that’s why you’re here,” chuckled the street vendor. “Slide over Mayo Samurai-san, there is plenty of room for the both of you.”

_Is it?! Is it, really? I feel like just one of us is plenty enough!_

“No, I…” Hijikata began haltingly, staring into his cup and trying to think of a way to get out of there without it seeming like he was running away.

“Show him the sign, Ojiisan,” the Yorozuya yawned as he sat down next to him, as expected, way too close. Then again, everything but a hundred miles was an unacceptable distance to the white haired samurai as far as Hijikata was concerned. 

The street vendor smiled as he raised his sign with the handwritten rules and pointed at the third one, knowingly. 

“ _If there’s a familiar face, pretend that you don’t know them.”_

 _You don’t have to tell me that!_ Hijikata fumed inwardly. Of course the bastard would show up when he least expected it. Of course he would make it impossible for him to leave without looking like a coward. That was the only way it ever went with the stupid perm head.

“Will you have the usual, Danna?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Peering irritatedly from under his bangs, Hijikata watched the old street vendor mixing an alcoholic drink with coffee and strawberry milk for the Yorozuya like it was perfectly normal.

_Oi, that’s disgusting!_

“So, it’s been pretty chilly lately,” Gintoki said placidly as he accepted the drink.

_You serious?! The weather? We’re talking about the weather?!_

“Yeah, it’s getting quite dark at night, too.”

_Why am I going along with it?!_

“I guess winter’s coming.”

_Who’re you, the Lord of Winterfell?!_

“I’m lucky it seems the cold weather doesn’t affect the two of you much,” the old man said, ever smiling. “It’d be boring standing here all night without anyone coming in to complain, after all.”

“You come here to complain often, then, Mayo… San?” Gintoki inquired nonchalantly.

Hijikata frowned. He had still managed not to look at the bastard, but out of the corner of his eye he noted that Gintoki was wearing a blue haori over his usual clothes, as well as a red scarf. He tried his best not to inhale his smell as he replied with all the calm he could muster. 

“Not particularly. I come here to get a drink. In peace.”

“Really now, Mayo Samurai-san,” the old man scolded him gently. “You’ve been pretty worked up over that drowsy-looking cat lately, haven’t you? Saying how you’re starting to see things that aren’t real and whatnot.”

_Oi, Gramps! What are you saying?!_

“Hahahaha!” Hijikata forced a laugh, wanting nothing but to smash the old man’s face right into his boiling pots of ramen. “I was kidding about the cat, kidding! Hahahah!” 

“Really?” Gintoki commented flatly. “Was this cat in the company of a gorilla and a black cat walking on two legs?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Hijikata replied, dumbfounded. In midst of the confusion, he accidentally turned his head and stared at the Yorozuya. He seemed perfectly relaxed, resting his chin in his cupped hand as he sipped at his drink, studying the surroundings without any real interest. 

“Okay.”

_Okay, my ass! You obviously know something! That’s damn suspicious, oi!_

Hijikata ran an exasperated hand over his face, feeling his head starting to ache. Just as expected, this was turning into a royal pain in the ass. He was becoming more acutely aware of the insufferable closeness of the other man by the minute, as well as his own exhaustion. He was not capable of dealing with this right now. Or ever.

At this point Gintoki shot him a sidelong glance, red eyes studying him for an instant, before turning his attention back to his drink. He spoke before Hijikata had the chance to digress further. 

“I’d say that the real problem here would be that no one missed that gorilla. Not a single soul.”

“Kondou-san’s been out of town,” Hijikata said without thinking. 

“Who’s Kondou? I’m talking about a gorilla.” 

“I… me too!”

“Really, I thought I heard you say Kondou-san.” 

“I didn’t!”

“So you admit he’s a gorilla?”

“No one’s ever said anything about a gorilla!” 

_Enough._

Placing both hands at the counter, Hijikata impulsively rose from his seat. He could feel tremors run down his arms, the agitation causing him to shake slightly. Never underrate the Yorozuya’s ability to cause him a headache, never. He was about to declare his final decision, which was, naturally, to leave; when he felt Gintoki’s hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Mayo-san,” Gintoki’s voice was low, and if Hijikata didn’t know better he would have thought there was something tender in the way he formed those words. “There’s no need to leave so soon. You haven’t finished your drink.”

Hijikata had trouble focusing on what the bastard was saying. For some idiotic reason all he felt was that heavy warmth of the other man’s hand on his shoulder. The layers of clothing separating his skin from Gintoki’s was of little consequence, he felt every movement of that hand with devastating clarity; the light press of fingers against his shoulder before it slowly slid down between his shoulders and down his back in something like a soothing caress.

_What the hell?_

“I wasn’t gonna leave,” he grumbled as he shrugged away from the Yorozuya’s intolerable touch. “I just needed to stretch my legs, is all!” He sat back down stubbornly and picked up his cup again, taking care not to look at Gintoki at all. His face felt hot; of bloody course -- he hated his body for betraying him like this. Still, he couldn’t leave.

“Good.”

_What do you mean ‘good’?! There’s nothing good about this!_

It wasn’t like there was something magnetic about the silver haired samurai that caused Hijikata to stay, despite himself. He just wanted to make a more dignified exit, was all. 

**. . .**

Gintoki watched the Vice-Chief out of the corner of his eye, trying hard not to smile. He was not in his Shinsengumi uniform today, either, but in a dark grey yukata and a haori, indicating that he wasn’t working, and that it was indeed getting a little chillier. It was stupid, but he could feel a brief tug at his heartstrings as he noticed the telltale red spreading over Hijikata’s cheeks as he fidgeted with his bottle of mayonnaise, staring into his cup of sake in a blatant display of ignoring him.

_Why’re you getting all bothered for, idiot?_

Truth be told, it wasn’t like Gintoki was entirely comfortable being so close to the cop, either. A great deal of his attention was channeled towards staying calm and unaffected by the smell of his cigarettes and the sound of his vexed voice. Their last encounter had left a dirty, impregnable mark in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, it had proven impossible to rub it off. Sitting next to Hijikata now, he was becoming aware that the real man caused him just as much imposition as the one in his disturbed mind.

Fortunately, Gintoki was better at concealing his discomfort; courtesy of that carefree personality he had been bestowed with, presumably. He was about to comment on Hijikata’s disgusting eating habits, when the old man interjected, speaking as though there had been no disruption whatsoever.

“How about you, Danna? Anything on your mind?”

“No, no. Nothing in particular,” Gintoki lied, scratching the back of his neck.

“No? How about that little lady problem of yours?”

 _Eeeeeh?_ Gintoki sputtered on his drink. He felt something like panic fluttering in his chest as he shot Hijikata a quick sidelong glance, noting that he was watching the old man intently.

_Oh, no._

“Huuh?! What are you saying, Ojiisan?! I don’t remember saying anything about something like that!” he rambled, mustering a hysterical laugh. “Hahaha! You must have me confused with someone else!” 

“I don’t think so, Danna. I don’t forget about my customers’ complaints that easily. As I recall it it’s all you’ve been talking about lately,” the old man nodded ruefully. 

_Cut it out already!!_

“What?! You must be getting senile, Ojiisan, do you even know what you’re saying?”

“You were saying you don’t quite feel like doing XXXXX and XXXXX with the other ladies anymore, because of this certain--”

_Oiiiiiiiii!!_

“Aaaah!! What is that?! LOOK! Over there! I think I saw Laputa! It’s the castle in the sky!!” 

“Huuuh?”

“Yeah, yeah!! I’m sure, just look! It was there just now, I swear I saw it!”

“Have you had a bit too much to drink, already, Danna?” 

“Lost his mind, more like it,” Hijikata offered cooly, and Gintoki could not stand the loftiness in his tone; it pissed him off beyond limits. He swiftly turned to grab the collar of his yukata as much out of habit as anger, and he was almost relieved at how readily Hijikata grabbed him in the same way, all eager to yell at him _like usual_.

“Shut up! I saw you looking after Laputa! You wanna see it, too!”

“You shut up! As if I were gonna fall for something as childish as that!”

“That’s some big talk coming from someone who cried over ‘My neighbour Pedero!’”

“So did you! Want me to kill you, hnn? Stupid P--...”

Hijikata’s death threat was cut short by the old street vendor’s sign; it forced them to let go of each other as it came flying down in between them with an ear splitting bang.

_Hey, Ojiisan… Were you always this strong?_

“There, there,” the old man smiled his close-eyed smile at them, resting the sign against his shoulder. “You should know this by now, seeing how you’re both regulars; the rules are binding. As long as you’re in my stand, you stand by them.”

Gintoki glared into Hijikata’s angry blue eyes for another vehement heartbeat, before they demonstratively turned away from each other, more or less simultaneously. Gintoki was mightily annoyed at the realisation that his own dark expression was more or less a mirror image of that of the mayonnaise addict. 

“Sorry, Gramps,” they muttered in grudging unison. 

Glancing over at the police officer, Gintoki noted that he had settled back with his drink, looking irritated but clueless. What else was new. The bastard was so daft even the most obvious of statements kept going over his head. His head with that perfectly kept dark hair which just made Gintoki feel sick.

_It’s disgusting, how perfect you can look without even fucking knowing it._

He gulped down the last of his drink and crossed his arms over his chest. There it was; the want growing in his body and soul; _that sick need_ , to mess up that perfect surface. His fingers were still prickling from where they had come into contact with the other man. Gintoki acted more on instinct than reason as he edged closer to the Shinsengumi Vice-Commander. So close, in fact, that the sides of their bodies were touching. He could sense the other’s frame go rigid, but he wasn't moving. _Do you like this?_ Making sure the old man was occupied with his pots, Gintoki smoothly leaned in close enough to feel the heat rising up from Hijikata’s neck, and breathing out softly, he allowed his lips the pleasure of ghosting over the pale skin for one head-spinning moment.

In the next, he was back to his previous spot and the old street vendor was looking at them again.

“Are you alright, Mayo Samurai-san?” he asked concernedly.

“I--I’m fine,” Hijikata stuttered and the volumes of contradictions within his voice sent a pleasant thrill up Gintoki’s spine.

“You look a little dazed, perhaps you ought to have a glass of water,” the old man nodded to himself, and as he busied himself with it, Gintoki couldn’t help but steal a glance at the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief. He was dearly awarded. All scowls and burning cheeks, Hijikata looked the very image of botheration.

_Since when did this get me so inexcusably excited?!_

Gintoki felt something warm clutch at the centre of his chest, and why, he really felt like smiling like a goddamn idiot. The smile did not reach his face before the old man decided to speak up again, however.

“It’s alright Mayo Samurai-san”, he said assuringly, handing Hijikata a glass of water. “Danna isn’t always in such good spirits, either. You should’ve seen him the other night, in fact. A right mess he was, a right mess.” 

_Oi! I thought we were over this! Besides, is it really alright for you to keep spilling the beans like this?!_

“Hey Ojiisan, what about a customer’s privacy, huh? No rule about that?” Gintoki glared daggers at the old fool. He could practically feel the sweat drops forming at his brow, and in his periphery he detected Hijikata’s dangerously narrowed eyes.

“Mmm!” the old man continued with the air of someone telling a bedtime story, ignoring Gintoki completely. “The ladies is one thing, he’s been saying, but what’s actually driving him insane, it’s _this other person_.”

_Ojiisan, please stop talking. I beg of you. Just, stop._

At this point, Gintoki was sure his body had turned into an ungainly mass of lead. He was dimly aware of his gaze going dead as could be, and Hijikata; straightening up somewhat beside him, and stubbing out his cigarette.

The old man was on a roll, apparently. 

“Lately, this person has been getting into his head, you see. And that’s, and I’m quoting Danna here; is where the real issue lies. As it turns out, it prevents him from enjoying himself the way he used to.”

_The end?! Drop dead, will you, Ojiisan!_

“Hey, Ojiisan,” Gintoki said in a soulless tone, forcing himself not to jump over the counter and strangle the old fool on the spot. He hated how Hijikata stayed still, and silent. “Show him the sign again, will you.”

The street vendor obediently raised the sign again, pointing at the fourth rule.

_“Forget everything you hear and don’t tell a soul.”_

“You understand, right?” Gintoki gave a hollow little laugh. He could practically see fragments of his dignity raining all over this shitty scene.

“Well, I don’t really care. It’s none of my business.” Hijikata’s detached voice came floating as though from another world. Gintoki stared at him incredulously as he rose from his seat, and placed a handful of coins on the counter. “Good night, Gramps.”

“Oh. You’re leaving? Yes, yes... Good night then, Mayo Samurai-san.”

Gintoki watched Hijikata’s retreating frame in silent disbelief. A heavy wave of surrealism passed over him at the realisation that the cop was walking away from him a second time. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance. 

_I don’t think so, Hijikata-kun._

**. . .**

tbc.


	3. On the Other Side of the River Styx, Everything Looks the Same

**. . .**

The moon hung round and pale over Edo, and although it was in the middle of the night, everything was soaked in a blueish, eerie kind of light; Hijikata Toushirou included. Hand tightly grasping the hilt of his katana, shoulders drawn up and face a thunderous cloud, he cut quite the frightening figure as he stalked through one of the city’s more run-down quarters. He was unaware of it all however, as he was busy cursing the Yorozuya right back to hell, and he paid no attention to the way people who spotted him went pale, or gave a little whimper, before they hurried out of his way.

“I should’ve arrested him once I had the chance, he’s a goddamn danger to public safety!”

He muttered furiously under his breath. Trust no one but that idiot to make him feel so hopelessly uncomfortable in his own skin. The smell of the sweet tooth still hung around him, it clung to his clothes, forcing its way into his head. The warm hand resting heavily on his shoulder, the feeling of his hot breath against his skin, his almost-touch, his goddamn closeness. It all brought Hijikata back to the shameful events in that alleyway with such terrifying ease, and he really, really didn’t want to go there. 

_Stop it, stop it, stop it._

Something in his head was mercilessly buzzing with the revelations of the night; reminding him of how pathetic he was. No matter how hard he tried to put his focus elsewhere he was left with the devastating realisation that he had become quite unable to deal with the Yorozuya at all, whilst the other man seemed perfectly fucking fine. Hijikata snorted, disgusted at his own lack of self-control. He reached for his packet of cigarettes, fished one out and lit it up without thinking, inhaling deeply. His nerves felt all raw and the nicotine was soothing, briefly.

_A lady problem?! Hell if I care!!_

Because why would he? There was nothing new about the self-indulging fool and his questionable choice of lifestyle. Hell, it wasn’t without reason that Hijikata had adopted a cautious, borderline evasive, attitude towards Sakata Gintoki. Murphy’s Law was applicable to everything about the idiot, always. He was nothing but trouble, trouble, trouble and a little bit more of trouble.

Maybe for that very reason, Hijikata wasn’t even all that surprised at the sight of a distinctive mess of silver hair as he turned a corner. At some level he had just accepted the fact that this was part of his personal retribution for stepping out of routine. Hijikata stopped dead in his tracks, not caring about the way bystanders ran off in fright as they saw him grabbing his katana, leaving the street more or less deserted. His cigarette fell to the ground, still burning.

Gintoki was casually resting his back against the wall of an abandoned-looking building with broken windows, the tattered store curtains indicating that it had used to be a restaurant of some sort. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked for all the world like there was nothing odd about him being at just this street corner, at just this time. 

“Hey, Hijikata-kun. Or would you prefer I call you Mayo Samurai-san now?” he droned, half-lidded eyes giving him a once-over before going back to their usual lifeless state. 

“Why’re you following me, Yorozuya?” Hijikata rasped, trying hard to keep the little bit of cool he had left. Mentally, he had since long passed the point of exhaustion.

“Eeeh? I’m not. This is my way home, too, you know,” Gintoki deadpanned. “It’s a shortcut.”

“I doubt it! Walk somewhere else!” 

“Oi, that’s a little rude, Mayo-san,” Gintoki made a show out of stifling a yawn. “Gin-san’s trying to make amends here.”

“Amends, my ass! Just leave me alone!”

“Well, what if I refuse to leave you alone until you hear me out?” 

Hijikata startled; he hadn’t expected the tinge of seriousness in the Yorozuya’s voice. He frowned, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword as he watched him, warily. 

“I don’t care. It has got nothing to do with me.” 

“Oh, but it has got everything to do with you, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki’s voice was as toneless as ever, but Hijikata noticed the way his red eyes were suddenly intensely burning with _something_ ; something he didn’t like to admit he recognised by now. “You’re making Gin-san’s life pretty miserable, you know.”

The goddamn _nerve_ of him. The anger came calling and Hijikata was happy leaving it in command as he had no wish whatsoever to know what the bastard really meant.

“Huuuh?! Are you fucking serious right now?!” 

“Yeah. Probably more serious than I’ve been all night, if you must know.”

“Who gives a damn?! Do you think I wanted to hear any of that?!”

“Any of what?” Gintoki had pushed of the wall and was finally facing him. His face were in the shadows for a beat, silver hair shining spookily in the light of the moon. 

“All of it!” Hijikata bristled. “I don’t wanna know anything about you! I don’t care about your stupid problems! And I certainly don’t give a shit about who you’re screwing!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had probably said too much. The elation flickering by Gintoki’s eyes told him so, too. Something within gave a violent cramp at the realisation, and he felt as though all the blood in his face just left; then came back with such force he was surprised he didn’t start to bleed right out of his pores.

“Hoooh?” The Yorozuya’s voice was laced with amusement as he lifted his hand to his chin, looking at Hijikata with unabashed calculation, making the hair on his neck stand up. “That’s what got your panties in a twist? Well, then I has got something to tell you.”

Gintoki was taking a slow step towards him, tryingly, as if testing the waters. Fighting to keep his breath calm and level, Hijikata gave him a hard stare, daring him to come closer. _I’ll kill you._ The goddamn déjà-vu held him in an iron grip. He could feel the dread, that hateful anticipation, _for what_ ; he didn't know, rising in his chest like a slow, aching burn. 

“I don’t wanna hear it, bastard, I already told you.”

“Are you sure about that, Hijikata-kun?”

Hijikata hated the way Gintoki spoke with such languid fucking ease. He hated how his name rolled of his tongue like it was _his._ He hated how it sent a jolt down his spine.

_Don’t do this again. Just, don’t._

Hijikata had since long known there was something indefinitely dangerous about Gintoki. He wasn't foolish enough not to perceive that, it was just that he normally did his best not to think about the bastard at all; and so had managed to keep a lock on that closet for quite some time. Now he had the creeping, horrible misgiving that the most dangerous part about the Yorozuya wasn't his past, or his tendency of wreaking havoc wherever he went; but his ability to render him utterly defenseless for no reason he could possibly account for. Hijikata’s heart seemed to have jumped out of place, and was currently stuck beating madly somewhere in between his chest and throat.

“I thought so. I also thought you’d be too much of a coward to ask, so here it is. Gin-san will spell it out for you all nice and slow,” Gintoki’s voice was deep and Hijikata detected the bottomless anger in it, and for some reason, that calmed him down, ever so slightly. “The thing is, I’m _not_ screwing anyone, and that’s the gist of it, you see. It’s all your fault.”

“How the hell is any of that my fault?!” Hijikata glared at the Yorozuya from under his bangs. The spark of anger helped. He was a slave to it during normal circumstances, a happy follower tonight. “And I already fucking told you, I don’t care, so why do you keep pestering me about this shit?!”

“Man, you’re such a goddamn pain in the ass,” Gintoki ran both of his hands through his hair, voice hoarse with frustration. “Why do I even bother?” 

_Yes, why do you?!_

The Yorozuya came to a halt an arms length away, but his smell was already encircling them, making Hijikata’s head spin and ache -- Hijikata wanted to hit him so badly, for looking so insufferably serious all of a sudden, among innumerable other crimes. He also wanted to yell but found no words and remained silent and glowering, heart pounding away hysterically.

“Listen closely, because I’m saying this only once, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki’s low voice filled the space between them, every single word deadly audible, all but crackling in the air. “I’m not sleeping with anyone because I can’t get _you_ out of my fucking head.”

It was as though someone had pushed a stick into the wheel of time; making everything _slow down_ for a moment. Bits and pieces of that unspeakable event in the alleyway came crashing down around them, almost materialising in the little cloud their breaths formed in the cold air between their faces. The Yorozuya silently watched him, uncharacteristically patient, and the seconds ticked by tardily, caring nothing about Hijikata’s agony. 

“I don’t...“ he trailed off, uncertainly. Gintoki’s red gaze was too heavy on him, he felt like he might crumble under it at any time, falling, along with his dignity and all the raw nerve endings of his being. “I still don’t see how it’s my fault,” he grumbled at last, mortified. His eyes searched a spot on the ground, and he hated himself for blushing, for not being able to even look at the other man.

“Don’t make me laugh, idiot.” The anger had fallen away, giving way to a faint weariness in Gintoki’s tone. “You’re supposed to be a cop, shouldn’t you be much better at puzzling out shit than me?”

_Idiot. This isn’t part of my job description!_

Hijikata hadn’t been aware of how hard he’d been gripping the hilt of his sword during their exchange, but as the Yorozuya’s warm hand came to rest upon his, he realised how cold and stiff his fingers had become. 

_Don’t touch me._

He tried, he really did. He tried to withstand with all of his might, to hold his ground against the loathsome force of gravitation that was Sakata Gintoki and his smell of strawberries and endless trouble. But what it fire could only be fought with fire? Hijikata recognised the heavy want rolling over him as the Yorozuya offhandedly reached for his chin, and tilted it upwards, so that he was forced to look into those damned eyes; dark and hazy with that very same need. His hand lost its strength, falling away from his katana lamely.

In the next moment Gintoki’s lips were pressed against his, all impatient and demanding. He hardly had time to draw breath before the other man’s tongue rolled hotly against his, the kiss instantly turning deep and angry. _I’m the one who’s angry_! Really, he had all the reason to be; at the fact Gintoki so easily swayed him, at the hideous sweetness tainting his mouth, at the bastard’s warm hands which were all over his neck, running up to nestle in his hair as though he’d fucking longed for it. 

_I still hate you._

Hijikata reached up and grabbed a handful of silver locks, initially with the need to retaliate, but he soon forgot about that as Gintoki groaned appreciatively at the tug at his hair, kissing him harder. Their tongues engaged in a dance of sorts, heated at first, nearly tender for beat, then all but fighting again, and Hijikata wanted it never to end, yet feared what would happen if it didn’t.

Then, Gintoki’s mouth was close to his ear, his voice bone-chillingly deep: “For someone who doesn’t care, you certainly have no shame, kissing me like this.”

_Fuck._

It was impossible to deny the deep stab of arousal. The feel of Gintoki’s lips; brushing past his ear and moving down his neck, nibbling and kissing, was causing Hijikata to feel positively light-headed; partly alarmed by the force of his own want, partly angry at the Yorozuya for bringing it forward so easily. Why, of course the idiot had figured out that was his weak spot. It was becoming more difficult to think of a reason not to just let the Yorozuya do his thing, briefly -- he could always shove him off later, once he’d had enough, right? 

Just a little bit more.

Hijikata tilted his head to the side, in spite of himself.

**. . .**

Gintoki was sailing real deep waters, and he knew it. He knew it, and he didn’t care. Dodging responsibility was one of his many talents, and in this case he blamed no one but Hijikata and his addictively soft skin. He couldn’t be held responsible for the way the bastard blushed as soon as he got close, right?

“Gin-san’s nothing but human, you know,” he mumbled into Hijikata’s neck, not loud enough to be heard, but it was just as well. The irritation he’d just felt was slipping away treacherously as he inhaled the cop’s smell and warmth.

_Well, fuck it._

Gintoki moved swiftly; grabbed Hijikata by the sleeve of his haori, and dragged him into the abandoned restaurant next to them by the broken-down door before he could come up with some dumb excuse to fight him off. Maybe he was being too forceful, he couldn’t say; the clattering of chairs falling was a distant reminder of how much force he had used. Either way Hijikata was nothing like any of the women Gintoki normally met with. It surprised him, admittedly; how excited that made him, that he knew that the other man could take a beating; and that he would just keep rising -- again, and again. From the very depths of hell, most probably.

“What the fuck do you think you‘re doing!?” Hijikata glowered at him, the blue of his eyes standing out against the dim surroundings. Gintoki could tell he wanted to hit him and that thrilled him to the core of his bones, too. 

“It’s time for you to take some responsibility, Hijikata-kun,” he told the Vice-Chief gravely as he placed his hands against the counter behind his back. 

_Gin-san has his limits, and you’ve been trampling all over them._

Something like that.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Goddamnit, I -- “

Hijikata was blushing, predictably objecting, and Gintoki couldn’t withstand the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. Kiss him silent, kiss him bloody, kiss him temporarily _his._ Because how many days, _weeks,_ had gone by without him being able to muster the interest and want necessary to sleep with someone? This aching want, growing close to painful in his pants, had been conspicuously absent as of late, or more precisely -- in the absence of Hijikata.

_Yeah, it’s all your bloody fault!_

The mortifying truth was that Gintoki had lost count of the half-hearted attempts at love-making he’d been engaged in since their last meeting. It wasn’t that he _couldn’t,_ per se; but rather a matter of not really feeling it like he used to. It had given birth to a kind of frustration he didn’t know how to label. Not that he wanted to, for that matter. He’d never had any trouble in that department before; so what if he’d been something of a machine -- _a love machine, girls_ \-- he’d always been able to perform spotlessly, unthinkingly. Even shitfaced, as it happened.

With the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief however, there certainly were no such issues. If there was a part of Gintoki that wanted to bang his head against the wall at this realisation, the part that wanted to laugh it off as a haphazard twist of fate was just easier to fall back on. Because it _was_ laughable, really. Just kissing the shitty cop had Gintoki so ridiculously hot, he might as well have been fifteen years old again. Which was his mental age, mind, in many aspects; but never in this.

_Whatever._

For all his objections, Hijikata was still responding to his kiss, wasn't he? Gintoki didn’t need any other reason to comply to the pleads of his body. He tugged at Hijikata’s clothes with impatience, haori falling to the floor as the Shinsengumi officer replied in kind, unwinding Gintoki’s scarf and unceremoniously discarding it. The cop was roughly grabbing his neck, nibbling a little bit too hard on his lower lip, a reminder of how sharp his teeth and person could be. 

Gintoki was once more filled with that unexplainable need to smile; and _touch_ every single part of the other man. He thoughtlessly let his hands slip inside Hijikata’s yukata, eagerly moving across his torso and back; touching all the warm, silky -- _why the hell are you so smooth?! --_ skin he could reach. Unsurprisingly, Hijikata was all hard muscle, taut and lean under criminally soft skin; the feeling of his flat, well-defined chest under Gintoki’s fingers was all new, though not at all unpleasant. 

Whatever happened to his inclination towards big boobs? Gintoki wondered dazedly, but not for long. He was done fretting over the whys. It didn’t matter who started this fire between them; he much rather complied to the simplicity of hands and lips touching. And maybe he was being a bit too obvious in his want, he couldn’t really control the way he ground into the other man any longer, but that ceased to matter too, as he felt Hijikata pressing against him. As far as body language went, he was pretty damn sure the cop was enjoying his hands on him; if the hard bulge under his garment was anything to go by.

Gintoki groaned. He burned for more, but as he moved his hand lower, he felt his mind reeling at the surrealism of what he was about to do. Perhaps it hit the Vice Chief, too, as he suddenly turned quite still, his hands, which had come to rest at Gintoki’s shoulders, pausing and grabbing him, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

_Don’t you dare chicken out on me now._

It took an immense amount of willpower to still his own hands, stopping only a few inches from the heat, but at some deep innate level, Gintoki knew he had to. He had to give Hijikata this small breath of abatement in order not to break whatever shit it was they had going. Trying to calm his breathing, he withdrew ever so slightly, watching the other man closely without moving.

Hijikata looked back at him, unblinking. His cheeks were ever-red, brow a dark shadow, the usual frown somewhat smeared out and replaced with turbulent need; and something Gintoki had not seen before. His eyes, sharp and beautiful like always, were not entirely fearless. Not tonight. He detected the troubled wariness in them, and of course Gintoki was riding high on that look alone. His head spun for a moment, and he cursed mentally.

_Don’t you realise I can’t leave you be when you’re looking like that?!_

People usually accused him of being something of a sadistic bastard. Gintoki however, had never been one to brood, especially not on others opinions of him, and so never given that part of his being much thought. He was who he was; was it covered in blood on the battlefield, or playing it rough in the bedsheets, it did not matter much. When it came to Hijikata Toushirou, he found that that sadistic streak of his nature was not only instantly coaxed forward, but taking over completely. 

Leaning his forehead against Hijikata’s, Gintoki couldn't stop the mad grin from breaking through. _I’m doing it_ . His fingers met with soft skin stretching over the taut, hardened muscle of Hijikata’s thigh, and he marvelled at the feel of it as he let his hand slip upwards, caressing the insides of his legs before promptly grabbing _that_ , which was burning and straining in between them. The way Hijikata drew for breath told him he had been right in acting on instinct.

“Ah! That’s-- Hnnnngh.”

“That’s what, Hijikata-kun?” Gintoki asked in a low voice, relishing in the way the police officer bucked into his hand, wordlessly asking for more. “Hmm? You want Gin-san to touch you that badly?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Hijikata hissed, and Gintoki realised he had started to like it when the Shinsengumi bastard told him to shut it. He wanted to chuckle, but it came out more like a drawn-out groan as he began to stroke the other man at the slowest pace he could manage. He was instantly rewarded with a strangled whimper of sorts, and Hijikata’s trembling hands slid down to clutch at the front of his yukata, pulling him closer. It was all way too good. His own need for release was a constant distraction, nagging at his consciousness incessantly, and the sounds _dammit_ ; the small pants and moans escaping the cop’s mouth at his touch -- did very little to ease his state of discomfort.

“Then touch me, too,” he mumbled throatily, grabbing Hijikata by the wrist and guiding his hand towards the aching source of his own frustration. He detected the slightest of hesitation flash by blue eyes, the tiniest of resistance in the arm he held; before it was there. Gintoki had no time marvelling at the resolution, nor the deftness of Hijikata’s long fingers as they wrapped around him; he just felt like coming undone on the spot. 

_What the hell’s going on here?! Since when do I act like a fucking teenager in heat?! What are you doing with me?!_

Really, he was back to blaming the Shinsengumi Vice Chief for every single thing wrong about his predicament. Every ragged breath, every curse falling from his lips, every urgent stroke of their hands. It was his fault for being so inexcusably sexy all of a sudden. It was his fault for causing Gintoki to go blind with need from a freaking _hand-job._ In truth, he was all but reduced to a panting, wanting mess, not able hold it back at all. There was some unwanted humiliation mixed into that realisation and Gintoki agonised briefly, then involuntarily relished in the growing sense of urgency coiling at the very core of his being. 

“Hi--Hijikata...”

It was not much of a warning. It was not much of anything at all, but a pathetically needy utterance of the other’s name as he lost it all, relinquishing his grip on reality for a stuporous moment, the deep shuddering release swallowing him whole. He was dimly aware of the other man cursing, the hand still clutching his yukata shaking violently for a beat, then the feeling of something hot spraying over his fingers.

**. . .**

There it was; the reason one should stay away and the reason why he could not. As the thrilling repercussions of his climax slowly passed through his body, Hijikata had a moment of clarity. Whatever it was, he knew by now that the Yorozuya possessed the rare ability to make him _forget_ ; to make him temporarily numb to the present and the past alike. Incidentally, that was all he had ever wished for. 

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

It didn't make current matters even a tiny bit easier to deal with. Hijikata wanted to hide, to travel back in time, and lose himself in the touch and the intensity of the indescribable thing they had just done. He wanted to wrap himself in the slight dizziness of mind, the pleasant feeling of being so utterly spent, almost sleepy, and stay in that bubble of non-reality forever. He wanted a moment of peace before he had to face the gamut of feelings he knew was waiting for him, hovering at the back of his mind, all-too ready to make his head a pandemonium of regrets. 

_Just a little bit longer._

He was briefly thankful to the other man for not saying anything. There was still the dreamlike memory of the Yorozuya’s low, helpless utterance of his name echoing faintly through his head, making it hard for him to think straight. As the world mercilessly floated into view again, he was becoming aware of Gintoki’s still-closeness, his uneven breathing against his neck, his smell and irresistible warmth still engulfing him. If Hijikata were to turn his head a fraction to the side, he would be burying his face in messy silver locks, and why was it; he had to nerve himself not to do it.

No, no, no. There really was something fundamentally wrong with this scene. It scared him, this silence, the uneasy discomfort of being so close, and yet not wanting to move away. Hijikata squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of a way to proceed, something to say, anything. He loathed the way his heart had picked up pace again, pounding hard as the anxiety came creeping up on him. Shame, the unbearable kind, was suddenly eating away at his insides as he was reminded of the fact that Gintoki had, just now, more or less had his way with him. Again.

_Say something, stupid curly head!!_

Yes, he had changed his mind. He wanted everything to be back to normal, this wasn’t even close to being acceptable. Gintoki would never be this silent, never this close, never…

“Hi--Hijikata-kun?”

Hijikata forgot about his inner turmoil as he perceived the very real, almost touchable, panic in Gintoki’s voice. The silver haired samurai had gone deadly still, and as Hijikata withdrew slightly to watch his face he was met with an expression of downright terror; red eyes intently fixed at a spot somewhere behind the old counter which Hijikata was still resting his back against. 

“What..?” Hijikata muttered suspiciously, slowly turning his head to follow the Yorozuya’s panic-stricken gaze. 

He instantly wished that he hadn’t looked. Something, no, _someone_ , Hijikata corrected himself, was seated on the other side of the counter. Amongst broken old bottles, toppled over furniture and rubbish, the old restaurant owner sat watching them with the air of someone who could not be moved by a mountain. As though, he had always been there. Which he most probably had been; quite literally. He hadn't always been _transparent_ , though. 

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

“Th--th--that…” Hijikata stuttered, trying his best not to crumble to the instant coldness spreading at the base of his back, chilling him slowly. He didn’t like ghosts, really, he didn’t like them _at all_ . His body moved on its own accord, swirling around and backing up so that his back was flush against Gintoki’s solid chest, so close that he could feel the tremors running through the Yorozuya’s body, and the unsteady rhythm of his heart. _Dammit_! He wanted to facepalm as he was reminded of the unfortunate fact that he was in the company of the one person in the entire world who was probably worse at dealing with spirits than he was.

“You-- you see him too, then?” Gintoki’s voice was extremely strained, his hands coming up to grab Hijikata’s shoulders tightly. 

“I--I do,” Hijikata confirmed through gritted teeth. “It’s, uhm... _him_ , right?”

“Ehehhe. But it can’t be. Right?” Gintoki gave a hollow little laugh, squeezing his shoulders painfully hard. “We sent him off, right? To the afterworld, right?”

“Ye--yeah. There’s no reason for him to be here now, we did well that other time, I’d say!” Hijikata knew he was rambling, cold sweat assembling at his brow. “We haven’t offended anyone at anyone’s funeral recently. _Right_?”

“...”

The ghost of the old restaurant owner they had already buried once was staring at them solemnly, a horrible dead silence stretching out between them as they stared right back at it, not daring to look away. He wasn't moving his transparent limbs but for one finger, which he was slowly tapping against his knee. Tap, tap, tap. Only that, his movements made no sound. 

“He-hey, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki whispered urgently. “Why’s he staring at us like that? What have you done to upset him?”

“What do you mean ‘what have I done’, bastard?!” Hijikata snapped. “Don’t act like you’ve got nothing to do with it!”

“Eeeeeh, but in this case, I’m pretty sure I’m innocent.” Hijikata could feel Gintoki’s rigid frame edging away from him, discreetly tucking himself away in the process. “As it is, I was actually about to…”

_You dirty fucking degenerate!_

“I don’t think so, you damn coward!” he hissed, and seized by well-known rage, he reached out and grabbed Gintoki by the wrist, in a vice-grip. “Don’t you dare sneaking away on your own!” 

“Ouch! I wasn’t!” Gintoki whined loudly. “It’s just that, I got this prior engagement and as sorry as I am to say this right now, I really ought to get on with it.”

“Prior engagement, my ass! Just say you’re scared shitless and trying to get the fuck out of here!” Hijikata barked, still eyeing the ghost warily. He didn’t want to turn his back on it as long as it wore that ominous, almost amused expression while watching them banter and struggle. Gintoki was being a pain in the ass, trying to free his wrist while hiding behind him and peering at the ghost of the old man over his shoulder.

“Don’t make me laugh! Hahaha! I’m not afraid of a see-through grampy whose funeral we already attended once, pfff!”

“Really!?” Hijikata snarled, infuriated at the way he was turned this way and that as Gintoki went out of his way to avoid putting his own body in direct line of the ghost’s penetrating stare. “Then how about you fucking stop using me as a shield?!”

“No can do, Hijikata-kun! He’s definitely looking at me funny! You, on the other hand, he seems to have taken a liking to you! Look, I think he smiled at you!”

“He didn’t!” Hijikata cast the ghost a frightened look, which confirmed his misgivings a thousandfold. If anything, the old man’s forehead seemed to be getting darker, the corners of his mouth stretching out in something like a horrible grimace.

“No, really, look again! He’s winking at you, even!”

“He’s not!” Hijikata bellowed, rage mixing with fear as he watched the face of the ghost twitch and spasm in the most sinister of ways. “He’s just angry! You made him a hell lot more than upset, you stupid perm head! He wants to kill us now, he definitely wants to kill us good this time!”

“ _I_ made him upset?!” Gintoki wailed and Hijikata really wanted to smack him, the only thing preventing him from doing so the ever-watching ghost. “I’d say the problem is that this old pervert’s been watching us this entire time! He’s made _me_ fucking upset! Tell him that!”

“Why do I have to tell him?! Tell him yourself!”

“But he’s trusting you now, Hijikata-kun. You’re the good cop, right?”

“WHY?!”

Hijikata brought both of his hands to his temples, massaging them hard while trying to regain some control of his temper. History had this terrible way of repeating itself, had it not? It just had to be like this, him, caught up in this mess; the worst kind of situation with the worst kind of person, all over again. 

“Hijikata-san. Sakata-san.” Both of them froze at the voice of the old restaurant owner calling them, sounding not so ghost-like but pretty much as it had always sounded. He seemed less angry, too. “How nice it is seeing you in this old place again! I’m very happy to see you haven’t forgotten about me yet.”

_Eeeeeh?!_

“Oi, Hijikata-kun…” Hijikata could feel Gintoki breath next to his ear, relaxing his grip on his shoulders, ever so slightly. “I think this might be that place.”

“Huh?” Hijikata furrowed his brow, sweeping his gaze over the dim room. Somehow, it did feel familiar. He had been too worked up upon stalking into this particular street, and indeed, upon entering this specific worn-down place; to notice. Now it became almost ridiculously clear that this was the restaurant they had used to frequent once the old man was alive and still running it.

“Then I was sort of disappointed,” the ghost of the old man continued in a sad voice which had them both jumping. “And, indeed, a little angry,” he added as an afterthought. He nodded morosely in the direction of the counter, where two bowls with food suddenly had appeared; red beans on rice next to a Hijikata Special. “You haven’t been eating this for a while, have you? I’d have thought that’s why you came here.”

_That’s why you’re angry?!_

“Ahahha, that’s nice, Ghost-san.” Gintoki finally stepped up beside him, somewhat hesitantly, still holding on to the sleeve of his yukata in a way Hijikata couldn’t help but notice. He found it equal parts annoying and endearing, in a sick kind of way. “It’s just that we thought you weren’t around anymore, what’s with all that crazy shit going down at your funeral, remember?”

“Ooh, that,” the old man’s ghost deadpanned. “Yeah, that was a blast.”

_It wasn’t!!_

“Yeah, hahahha,” Gintoki laughed emptily. “So, erhm, what I was meant to say was… why, uhm… Why are you back here, on earth, I mean to say?”

_Don’t ask him that!!_

Hijikata was back to wanting to hit the sorry excuse for a samurai next to him real bad. He could feel his body starting to shake with the agitation, the strain of being under so much unbearable pressure for so long slowly getting the better of him.

“Oh. I’m not. I’m on a leave of absence.”

_What the hell’s afterlife like, anyway?!_

“Oh.” Gintoki repeated monotonously. “A leave of absence, you say. Must be nice.”

At this, the old restaurant owner chuckled, almost gently, before sighing and shaking his head.

“It is. It’s nice to see the two of you are still getting along so well, too.”

“WE DON’T!!” Hijikata didn't know whether he was relieved or irritated at the fact Gintoki objected as intensely as he did, finally letting go of his sleeve to adopt a stance of frustration, arms crossed over his chest; eerily similar to his.

The ghost of the old man gave them a long stare. Then he coughed, as if in sarcastic agreement, before he slowly faded into the surroundings and went away in a fashion, Hijikata suspected, only spirits were capable of. 

“Damn old pervert,” said Gintoki.

“Dirty geezer,” agreed Hijikata. 

There was a moment of quiet deliberation as silence fell around them. Then, they both sat down, and without looking at each other, stubbornly grabbed their bowl of food; and began eating.

. . .

tbc.


	4. Libra Should Be Careful, Because a Libra's Temper Isn't Near As Frightening As a Taurus' Temper

“Gin-san, wake up! It’s already 11 o’clock!”

Shinpachi’s voice came drifting through the screen doors, announcing his daily arrival. It was also pitilessly adding to the repercussions of last night’s heavy drinking. Gintoki felt it like someone was slowly hammering a nail into his head, and a foul taste at the back of his mouth served as a nasty reminder of how desperate he had been to get piss drunk. It had seemed such a brilliant idea at the time. Like always, his predicament the following day was less brilliant. 

_Screw it all._

He stubbornly crawled back in under the covers, intent on hiding from the eye of the world for a bit longer. He was honestly in no state do deal with anything Odd Jobs-related at the moment. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite feel like dealing with anything else his sick mind insisted on torturing him with, either. As fate would have it, the unreformable memories of the past were not the worst part of his nights any longer. _Nope_. Presently he was being haunted by something far less distant, but in no way less stressful. Gintoki buried his face deep in the pillows, willing his mind, and Shinpachi, to grant him peace for another moment.

“Really now, it’s dirty here! When was the last time you cleaned this place?!”

As it turned out, Gintoki found it easier ignoring Shinpachi making a fuss over the disorderly state of the apartment, than the anxiety growing in his chest, acting almost like a friend of old at this point; familiar and nagging. Granted, the hangover in itself was busy dishing out every discomfort it could physically and psychologically implement, but there was the existence of a certain bad-tempered police officer, too; causing his head to ache and whirl with regrets. 

_You happy in there, huh?_

As much as he wanted to, Gintoki could not really blame Hijikata for his drinking habits; him and sake went way back after all -- but he certainly held him responsible for overdoing it more frequently lately. And in the light of recent events, who could blame him? Days had gone by since he last met the Shinsengumi Vice Chief and Gintoki simply didn’t know what to make of the fashion in which his body and mind kept steering him back towards that idiot. He groaned into the pillows. It was too late now. He had been acting on some kind of intrepid whim to start with, upon following this overwhelming urge to approach the source of his troubles; and now he was left picking up the pieces of his own stupid actions.

“Gin-san! Have you been out all night again? Seriously,” Shinpachi complained loud enough to cut through the headache. 

“Mmm, make him wake up, Shin-chan! We’re starving. Look at Sadaharu, his fur is all wishy-washy because he hasn’t got any food,” Kagura’s sleepy voice was joined by Sadaharu’s hortative bark.

“Kagura-chan, you should not sleep in just because this moron never wakes up in time!” Shinpachi scolded her. “Also, what will our clients think if you two sleep at all hours?”

Gintoki grabbed another pillow and pressed it down hard over his head. He didn't know what he wanted to erase the most; the existence of the two troublesome kids or his own, along with all the dirty memories threatening to do him in. Most of all perhaps, he wanted to go back in time and yell at himself for being so inexcusably impulsive. Because, thinking about it now, hadn't he been telling Hijikata a bit too much in the heat of the moment? Like, that part when he told him about not sleeping with anyone because he couldn’t get him out of his head, for example.

_Aaaaaaargh!! Whyyyy?!_

Gintoki banged his head down the futon in exasperation. What was the purpose of such brutal honesty all of a sudden? What had he even expected? A reply of some sort from the mayora freak? _As if!!_ It was all useless. Regardless his intentions, nothing good had come out of his actions so far. 

Really.

But for the feeling of a trembling Hijikata, hot and helpless under his hands; of course.

_GODDAMNIT!!_

Gintoki resurfaced from within the pillows, gasping for air. Heat was creeping treacherously up his neck, and he couldn’t deny the stir in his lower regions at the sheer implication of those burning cheeks and that strangled voice in his mind. And this pang of devastating longing to experience it again. 

_Gods, will this ever stop?! Is there not a limit to how pathetic a life one could lead?!_

Gintoki wallowed in the shame and the self-pity. Really, why was he being consumed by this rubbish, so unbecoming a JUMP hero! Honestly, could he even call himself one at this point? Sure, he had never aimed to be the Pirate King or the Hokage or anything as presumptuous as that, but this was definitely a new low. He ran his hands over his hot face. Presently, he felt like he might actually fail at pushing the unwanted distraction away, and mantling the carefree role of being the Yorozuya’s good-for-nothing leader. Because in the end, that was who he was. Right?

_Right._

“Shut up, megane, you’re noisy. Go buy us some breakfast.” He heard Kagura command Shinpachi in a flat tone.

“Oi, that’s rude! Besides we don’t have any money to buy breakfast.”

“Gin-chan says money is overrated.”

“Kagura-chan. You really shouldn't listen to everything Gin-san says.” 

Gintoki was about to finally get up and tell them to _shut up_ when the screen doors came crashing down with a loud bang, causing him to reflexively scramble away from his futon and back up against the wall.

“Good morning, Gintoki-sama. I have a message for you.” 

Blinking in confusion, Gintoki looked up at the small but ominous figure of Gedoumaru, Ketsuno Ana’s horned shikigami. Casually bringing her fortified club back to rest over one shoulder, she wasn’t looking in the least bit bothered about the fact she had just smashed part of the apartment into smithereens. 

“I forgot to tell you.” Shinpachi declared in a resigned tone. “We have a guest.” 

~  
  


“You gonna tell me what’s so important you had to barge in like that?” Gintoki demanded, pointing his spoon at the evil spirit on the other side of the table. After the ruckus at the apartment, she had surprisingly agreed on taking them out to a restaurant and treating them to breakfast. Gintoki was currently half-way into his second chocolate parfait, Kagura was gobbling down bowl after bowl of eggs over rice and Shinpachi was munching at a croissant. 

“It’s not me who’s having something important to tell you,” Gedoumaru gave him a dead look. “Christel-sama sent me on this errand.”

Gintoki paused briefly, raising one eyebrow. Why was it, the prospect of having Ketsuno Ana directly contacting him didn’t feel as thrilling as it should. Normally, he would have been overjoyed. Now all he could muster was a faint smile to appease the kids. After all, they knew all about his crush on the weather girl.

“Really? A marriage proposal? About time.”

“Christel-sama has no interest in your dirty balls,” the shikigami told him seriously, producing a small envelope from inside her sleeve. “She wanted me to deliver this.”

“A love letter then? She wants to become secret lovers? That’s even dirtier than my balls.” Gintoki eyed the envelope disinterestedly, chewing listlessly at a chocolate chip, and Kagura spoke through a mouth full of rice.

“Ketsuno Ana’s a dirty XXXXXX”

“KAGURA-CHAN!!”

Gedoumaru regarded Kagura silently for a beat, then she gave a little smile.

“Where’s that big white snack you always keep around?”

“Sadaharu’s no snack!!”

“Really, he looks plenty tasty to me.”

Gintoki sighed, feeling his attention wander as he looked out the window, resting his chin in his hand. Somehow, he couldn't help but wonder at the way the Edo streets were an unchanging maze of people going about their business; daily routines continuing as though nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. As though, only a couple of years ago, unspeakable crimes had not been committed under the pretense of war. Like, the land of the samurai was not still a bleeding mess, quivering in equal parts fear and rage right under the nose of its Amanto oppressor. As if, he had never kissed a shitty cop who in all likelihood would arrest him if he knew who he really was.

_I’ve really done it this time._

The chocolate parfait had eased his hangover somewhat, but a faint throbbing at his temples persisted, growing intense at the sight of a group of men, clad in a familiar dark blue uniform, walking past the restaurant. Gintoki turned his head after them, eyes unconsciously searching for a trail of smoke. He ignored the way something in his chest first jumped, then sinked, with the realisation that the stupid chainsmoker wasn’t with them. 

_Tch, lazy bastard! Don’t you take your job seriously?_

Gintoki frowned, suddenly hating the Shinsengumi uniform and everyone wearing one. He was about to zone out again, when he noticed the sandy-haired officer bringing up the rear of the small group of samurais passing by. His uniform jacket and scarf was even worse to look at, for reasons Gintoki didn’t care to acknowledge. Incidentally, he had never had a problem with Okita Sougo in the past. As in, they usually got along surprisingly well, and even shared certain interests; torturing Hijikata being one of them.

_So why isn't he with you today, Okita-kun?_

Gintoki grumbled inwardly, irrationally vexed at the fact Okita wasn’t habitually directing his giant bazooka at the head of his Vice Commander but sauntering by with a group of completely irrelevant individuals. As he passed the window, the Captain of the First Squad of the Shinsengumi turned his head a fraction, catching Gintoki’s eye, briefly. His maroon gaze was dull as ever, but Gintoki picked up on the malice flickering by his eyes, penetrating him with knowledge.

_He knows._

In the next moment, Okita was looking straight ahead again, acting as though he hadn’t seen them at all as he walked on. Gintoki placed his spoon on the table. His appetite had diminished in the light of such realisation. Why, for the first time since he’d gotten to know the brat, he doubted they were on the same page. He was definitely up to no good. Also, that face, a mask of boyish innocence when convenient; was truly eerily similar to that of his deceased sister -- a reminder of something else Gintoki had chosen to put at the very back of his head. 

_I’ve got an hangover! Please someone give Gin-san a break!_

Gintoki wasn’t even aware he had placed his forehead against the tabletop, busy as he was feeling unaccountably sorry for himself; until Gedoumaru smashed it further down the wood.

“Ouch! What was that for?!” He wailed as he got back up, clutching at his bleeding nose.

“For not listening,” the devil deadpanned. “I came here bringing a gift from Christel-sama and you people won’t even show any gratitude.”

“What gift?! So far you’ve only destroyed shit,” Gintoki muttered, casting a sour look at the shikigami. 

“That’s what I told her!” Kagura chimed in, crossing her arms importantly over her chest and puffing up her cheeks. “We don’t accept gifts from shady guest characters one doesn't even remember after a couple of chapters.”

“Kagura-chan…” Shinpachi was sweating.

“This,” Gedoumaru held out the envelope again, reminding Gintoki of its very existence. “It’s a gift from my master to the three of you. She said you should view it as a thank you for helping her to protect Edo back then.”

“Oh, that,” Gintoki reached out and grabbed the envelope. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think we were properly compensated that time. Especially seeing what happened to my b---”

“It’s not money.” Gedoumaru looked at him blankly. “It’s tickets.”

“Huuh?” Gintoki’s eyebrow twitched as he fished out what looked like three golden coupons with red text reading “ _Onmyoji Onsen Ryokan_ ” from the envelope. “What kind of tickets?”

“Vacation tickets,” the shikigami told them as she got up from her seat, placing money for the bill on the table. “There’s this hot spring inn owned by the Ketsuno Clan in the mountains. Your stay plus food and drinks will be covered. I see no reason for you to complain.”

“Gin-san, this is great!” Shinpachi exclaimed, and Gintoki had no trouble detecting the sparkly stars taking form in Kagura’s eyes at the mention of free food. Hell, he was not opposed to the idea himself. It was just that, it seemed a bit too good to be true.

“Alright then,” he said slowly, holding up the tickets in front of him. “So what’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. Like I told you, Christel-sama just wants to show her gratitude.” Gedomaru tilted her head to the side in a display of ingenuousness. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Gintoki-sama. You’re my second master, after all.”

With that, she shouldered her club and gave a small wave of her hand.

“Goodbye, Yorozuya.”

And she walked off, leaving Gintoki with the two noisy kids who’re excited at the upcoming vacation, his still-aching head and the distant anger at the idiot cop for not being around. _Why do I even care?!_ He cast a tired look at the TV in the corner of the restaurant, which was befittingly showing the girl who used to be the subject of his affections smiling, right at him. She was done reporting on the weather apparently, and well into the black horoscope of the day.

“Today’s _unlucky_ sign is Libra,” Ketsuno Ana beamed. “Particularly unlucky are those with curly hair, an incurable hangover and a bleeding nose.”

Gintoki felt a nerve in his eyelid twitch, a dark shadow falling across his brow.

“They will spend the day wishing they were never born. Alas, Libra knows they have been over-indulging themselves, and are happy to repent. Don’t forget to buy tissues~”

He dropped his head to the table again.

 _Happy to repent, my ass._

Thinking about it, a vacation might be exactly what he needed. 

**. . .**

“V--Vice Chief? A--are you sleeping in? That’s unusual...”

Yamazaki’s uncertain stutterings outside the sliding door awoke the innate urge to kill something in Hijikata’s sleep-muddled brain. He reached out for his sword, found that it wasn’t within reach, and settled for the object closest to the futon, which happened to an ashtray, and hurled it in the direction of the noise.

“SHUT UP!”

He heard his underling jump and gasp on the other side of the door.

“But Vice-Chief… It’s almost 8 o’clock…” 

“I don’t care! Get lost! Or commit seppuku! Your pick!” Hijikata roared, glaring daggers in the direction Yamazaki was presumably shivering behind the door.

“Ha--hai! Sir!” 

“Goddamnit,” Hijikata cursed under his breath as he heard his subordinate scurry away down the corridor. 

Somehow, he rather spent some time hating Yamazaki’s guts than reflecting on his current predicament. Actually, he wasn’t too bothered about the consequences of oversleeping. He knew Yamazaki would cover for him; that idiot knew there’d be hell to pay otherwise. It was the fact that he _had_ in the first place that was difficult to disregard. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. 

Then again, there was a lot of shit going on presently that had not really happened before. Hijikata pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a couple of deep breaths. He knew without looking that one certain part of him was more than awake and ready to go. _Fucking great_. Another night of tossing and turning to indecent dreams to add to the already sullied record of his life.

 _I’m the one who wants to commit seppuku_ , _dammit!_

Sighing deeply, the Shinsengumi Vice Chief threw the covers aside and rose from the futon. He was a man of action, after all. Intent on washing all the uselessness away, he marched into the shower and turned the cold water on full blast. Normally, this routine would not only serve to wake him up but was a blissful salve to the soul, leaving his mind and body calm and rejuvenated. Hijikata was less than pleased at the realisation that neither body nor mind had such plans today. Despite the icy water running down the length of his body, heat was still stubbornly gathering down his loins, and his mind strolling happily towards the sizzling core of his ever-growing frustration. 

_For fuck’s sake!_

Hijikata ran his hands through his wet hair and down his neck in exasperation. There really was no use, was it? Leaning one elbow against the wall, he dropped the other arm and reached down, his fingers wrapping around his unapologetically hard cock in firm resolution. Really, if he did it quickly he wouldn't need to think, and that way everything would feel sort of normal. In the past, that had always been his neat and efficient way of taking care of such urges. What was troubling now however, was not how quick he would be able to do it; that was the least of his problems -- but the unholy mess his mind was presenting him as soon as he touched himself. Biting his lower lip hard, Hijikata muffled the sounds wanting to break free; the shameful inner voice he usually chained down without mercy was practically banging its fist against his forehead.

_Let him in, you know it’ll be quicker that way. It’s what you want, right?_

Hijikata squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling shakily. No, he really didn't want to surrender to the memories of recent events, the dreamlike images of his sweaty nights alone floating together with reality and making him question, sometimes, what had really transpired between him and the silver haired moron. That incorrigible vagabond and his stupid face, all darkening eyes and smirks as he was closing in on him, his annoying smell and warm hands, sneaking inside his yukata in that fucking insouciant way of his, _touching_ , everywhere.

“Hnnnn…”

His hand had picked up a pace of its own, but Hijikata was oblivious to the fact. In a manner of speaking, it was not really him doing the touching, anyway. The initial purpose to find quick release was forgotten as he let the memory of the Yorozuya’s hands on him lead him through the disgraceful act, reliving every little part of the pleasure and the shame, all over again. It was torment, such sweet torment and he couldn’t stand it. The need to get off was rising with every stroke of his hand, and with that, sure as fate; came the hateful memory of the Yorozuya’s lazy, deep voice, urging him on.

_“You want Gin-san to touch you that badly?”_

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._

Leaning his forehead against the cool wall of the shower cabin, Hijikata gritted his teeth in silent agony, making one last effort at backpedaling his mind’s rapid derailing. It was useless, of course. The man with the messy hair and the dirty mouth had already made himself way too comfortable inside his head. Something about the way the Yorozuya-in-his-head smirked before leaning in to kiss his neck told him that he didn't plan on leaving any time soon, either. Hijikata shuddered, feeling imaginary lips trailing down his neckline with dreadful clarity, then that hot mouth was all close to his ear again and the words falling; heavy, sultry, crushing.

_“Hi--Hijikata-kun...”_

“Gin--”

There was no stopping it. His body was tensing up, heat shooting through his veins and breath hitching in his throat as he rode out the pulsating pleasure. It was wonderfully mind-numbing, this short little span of abatement, the violent physical reaction shaking him to the core of his being in an almost frightening way. As everything else however, it was too short-lived. As the last waves of delightful numbness passed over him, leaving his skin tingly and cold under the running water, Hijikata momentarily had the urge to scream. His body suddenly felt drained of all the restless energy it had woken up with, and he had to use his arms to support himself as he slumped against the wall. His chest was heaving with still uneven breaths as he turned his face upwards, letting the icy water hit his hot cheeks with full force.

_I’m sick, am I not?_

~  
  


“Kondou-san,” Hijikata greeted his commander customarily upon entering his rooms a couple of hours later. 

“Toshi!” Kondou exclaimed happily, turning from what looked like a mountain of paperwork with obvious relief. “I was just thinking about you!”

“Really?” Hijikata eyed the piles of papers on Kondou’s desk. “You sure you weren’t just fed up with work?” 

“Ahahhhaha! That’s cruel, Toshi!” Kondou laughed heartily as he got to his feet, scratching the back of his head. “It’s nothing like that, I assure you! Still, it turns out I have certain other matters to attend to.”

Hijikata raised an eyebrow as he detected the seriousness in Kondou’s tone, but stayed silent.

“As you can see, work has been piling up, and as much as I’d like to get to it, I've been requested elsewhere.”

“You’ve been requested elsewhere?” Hijikata lit up a cigarette, resting his back against the door as he watched his commander out of the corner of his eye.

_Now that’s suspicious, Kondou-san._

“Yes, yes… In fact, it might not have been that much of an official request as in…” Kondou paused, eyes drifting towards a spot in the far distance. ”Something I heard through the grapevine.”

“The grapevine, you say?” Hijikata blew out some smoke, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Kondou nodded vigorously. His eyes were decidedly shifty at this point, as he brought the tips of his fingers together, looking anywhere but at his second in command. “It’s about this cabaret club down in Kabukicho, in fact.”

 _Honestly_. 

“A cabaret club. In Kabukicho.” Hijikata repeated, running a hand over his darkening forehead, practically feeling the gears within his frontal lobe cooking up a migraine in progress. 

Kondou gave an awkward laugh, way too loud. 

“Mmm! You wouldn’t believe it, Toshi, but rumour has it the girls down there have been having problems with some really shady types lately. And I thought, thinking about the increasing Joui activity in that part of town--,” Kondou had taken on a grave expression. ”I should definitely go investigate!”

“Your head is what needs to be investigated!” Hijikata snapped, at long last. “Besides you’re the shady type in this equation! You’re clearly planning to go stalk that Shimura woman!”

“There’s nothing like that, Toshi!” Kondou held up his hands disarmingly. “It’s truly work-related I tell you, everything connected to Otae-- Joui activity, is!”

“You just said ‘Otae’,” Hijikata deadpanned, dropping his cigarette. The enormous piles of papers behind Kondou were starting to look somewhat appealing. As it was, the Demon Vice Commander saw it not only for a tiresome task of work but for what it could more importantly serve as; well-needed _distraction._ “Well, whatever,” he huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Go. I will deal with this.” 

“Really?” Kondou wrought his hands together, looking disgustingly happy. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before I change my mind.” 

“Toshi~~”

Hijikata shook his head in resignation as the Commander prostrated himself in front of him, before taking off in an unforgivably elated manner. Sighing, he sank down in front of Kondou’s desk and lit up another cigarette as he began shuffling through the papers. It was mostly reports in need of approval; tedious work that would keep his mind occupied for the reminder of the day. 

_Perfect._

As the hours went by, the Vice Chief found solace in the fact that he was still able to immerse himself in work and forget about all else. Patrolling was still a pain in the neck, but this much he could do with ease; which was lucky, seeing how no one else was doing it. Putting out what must have been his hundredth cigarette that day, Hijikata picked up another report. This one seemed to be covering mainly past events, going years back, around the time of the Joui Wars.

_Why’s this mixed into recent reports, though?_

He began skimming it routinely; he already knew enough about this sad piece of Edo’s history to be satisfied with a quick overview of the events. No in-depth descriptions were necessary for him to understand the horrors of civil war, tragic as that was to admit. This conflict following the Amantos’ arrival had left the country bleeding out for almost 10 years, the Jouishishi a resilient force to be reckoned with. All the way to the hideous Kansei Purge. For some reason, Hijikata felt uneasy approaching the subject, and he was about to put the paper away when his eyes tripped over a certain word.

_Shiroyasha._

The name called out to him in a strange kind of way. That man was supposed to be a myth, Hijikata knew as much. He wasn’t stupid; not some kid believing in night time stories, or a nostalgic old man reminiscing on the legends of war. And yet, he couldn’t fully disregard the stir in his chest as he read on despite himself. 

_“…an unspeakable madness haunting his steps as he waded through the heaps of broken bodies; it is said he killed more than anyone else among the Jouishishi, hundreds upon hundreds of enemies falling under his ferocious sword…”_

Goosebumps were prickling Hijikata’s skin, and the headache he had been expecting all day came marching in with full force. He really wanted to put the paper away at this point, but his hands seemed unable to let go of it.

_“... man, or a demon? Dressed in white, head to toe, even his hair an ungodly shade of silver…”_

Hijikata stared numbly at the words, a faint chilling sensation wandering up his spine.

_“…what if the question still to be asked is not whether or not he existed, or if he in fact—persisted?”_

“The hell he did!” Hijikata bristled finally, bringing his hands down the desk with a bang. He refused to dwell on the fact that everything about that roddy report had his skin crawling with dogging inquietude. Which was stupid since it was more like a bloody fairy tale than an account of actual events. Really. 

_Who wrote this rubbish, anyway?!_

He turned the paper with an irritation that was growing greater still at the sight of the author’s name; Yamazaki.

_Tch! Who does he think pays him for writing this nonsense? Where is that idiot--_

“He’s playing badminton.” 

Sougo’s monotone voice was an unwelcome addition to Hijikata’s already shitty day, and seeing the little bastard entering the room like he was invited did little to soothe his already blossoming temper. He was much too agitated already to be bothered by the fact the Captain of the First Squad so readily read his mind.

“He _what_?!”

“I heard him say something about making Seigaku-- I mean the _Shinsengumi_ , the top team of the nation.”

“That damn useless maggot,” Hijikata fumed as he got to his feet, intent on chasing the badminton freak down and implementing some divine punishment. It suddenly seemed like the only solution to his headache. “He better have his white robes prepared,” he muttered as he stalked towards the doors. 

“Mada mada dane, Hijikata-san.” Sogou whipped out his sword to block his way; fast enough to cut down any ordinary person. Hijikata Toushirou was anything but ordinary however, and his captain’s tendency to attempt to kill him on a regular basis was simply ingrained to his muscle memory. He habitually hurled his body out of harm’s way, dodging the blade by sheer millimeters. 

“YOU TOO?!” he bellowed, bringing his hands to his head. His eyes felt like they might pop out at any time. “I swear, this time, Sougo, I’ll really…“ 

“I’m actually bringing a gift for you, Hijikata-san,” Sougo cut him short in his flat kind of way. He sheathed his sword and fished out what seemed to be a golden coupon of sorts from his pocket. “You’re not gonna kill a bringer of good fortune, right?”

Hijikata paused, giving the brat a long look through narrowed eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means I got my hands on something precious,” Sougo was giving him a typically blank stare. “You should really be a little more grateful, Hijikata-san.” 

_Grateful, my ass. Do you actually believe I would think you’d bring me something I’d benefit from? There’s no way._

Hijikata eyed the coupon Sougo was now holding nonchalantly between his thumb and forefinger with great suspicion.

“What is it?”

“Now you ask? Seriously, Hijikata-san,” Sougo’s voice had taken on a dark tone, and anyone less on edge than Hijikata would presumably have noticed the way his maroon eyes turned sharp and spiteful. “I had just begun to think you weren’t interested in a free stay at an inn with an open mayonnaise buffet…”

“Give it here!” 

Hijikata snatched the coupon out of the little devil’s hands on impulse. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a ticket, the red text on it reading “ _Onmyoji Onsen Ryokan”._ It wasn’t an inn he had ever heard of, but it did look authentic enough. His mind full of images of what an open mayonnaise buffet might look like, he didn’t notice the ominous grin tugging at the corners of Sougo’s mouth, as the younger man moved to leave, speaking over his shoulder.

“You should view it as a well-deserved vacation, Hijikata-san. We all know how hard you… work.”

As the door slid closed, the TV behind Kondou’s desk was suddenly making a noise as though someone had just switched it on, and Hijikata watched the screen flickering to life with slight confusion.

“...also will be having a _terrible day_ , is Taurus,” the weather girl was smiling solemnly at him from the other side of the screen. “Especially if you have V-shaped bangs, a chronic headache and a disgusting obsession with mayonnaise.” 

Hijikata could feel a nerve pop at his temple, his vision darkening.

“They will spend the day fighting earthly desires, but to no avail. Taurus have a tendency of denying themselves what they truly want, and so they must atone. In the days to come, Tauru’s regrets will multiply~”

Hijikata rubbed his forehead tiredly, reaching for a cigarette from within his breast pocket.

_I will never be done atoning, right?_

Thinking about it, a vacation might be exactly what he needed. 

**. . .**

tbc.

  
  
  



	5. If Your Demons Play Well Together, It’s More or Less a Done Deal : Pt 1

“I feel rejuvenated already~” Gintoki sighed in contentment, tipping his head back. “Nothing quite like soaking oneself in hot water after the ordeals of a long day.”

“Gin-chan, you sound like an old geezer,” Kagura commented through a mouthful of pickled seaweed. Only her face was visible above the surface of the water, as she lazily swam by on her back.

“Gin-san. Kagura-chan.” Shinpachi sat nearby in the chest-deep water, watching them impassively. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the rare peace and quiet bestowed upon a hardworking man, Patsuan, what does it look like?” Gintoki slanted Shinpachi an annoyed glance through half-lidded eyes. “Well, I don’t expect a pair of glasses who have barely just entered puberty to understand the hardships of adulthood.”

“DON’T GIVE ME THAT!” Shinpachi snapped, water splashing around him as he waved his arms about in exasperated anger. “Really, what’s wrong with the two of you?! Why do you act like everything is perfectly _fine_? And why do you refer to me as solely a pair of glasses, I’ll kill you!”

_Well._

Although it did have a large indoor hot spring with steaming milky water and wood flooring, and very neat small guest rooms with everything one could possible need -- the ryokan inn owned by the Ketsuno Clan admittedly wasn’t exactly what they had expected. 

“Don’t be a party-pooper, Shinpachi,” Kagura said reprovingly. “I even brought a swimming suit so that I could enjoy the baths with the two of you, and all you do is complain. Is that really all your character is capable of?”

“If I am, it’s because I have to react on the behalf of you two idiots as well!” Shinpachi seethed in between breaths, eyes bulging. “This is no joke, dammit!”

True, there had been this moment of hesitation mingled with terror upon realising they were the only _human beings_ visiting this particular inn, which, as it turned out, normally hosted only shikigami. 

Gintoki rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look at it this way, Patsuan -- we’re getting fed right? We have access to all sorts of luxury, and it’s all free, too. Back home, I would have to pay rent, as well as food and everything else you spoiled kids need. I say it’s all more than fine.” 

“Who’re you trying to fool into thinking any part of this is fine?! We’re clearly in the demon world again!”

“Oh, really?” Gintoki mused. “Yeah, well, there’s that. In any case, we should view this as something of a windfall.”

“Windfall, my foot!” Shinpachi yelled as he gestured at their surroundings. “Aren’t we just prisoners here!?”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Gintoki absently picked his nose. “We should be fine.”

Truer still, there was a group of ragged demons scattered around the steaming bath, regarding the scene in sullen silence. Shinpachi was not entirely wrong thinking that they carried the remote air of a bunch of rather bored guards. Gintoki _had_ actually nursed the suspicion that they weren’t exactly free to leave since they had entered the inn earlier that day, when the heavy doors of the gate closed with a forbidding thud behind their backs; but he was not too bothered as of yet. Whatever came later, he would deal with then, he figured.

As expected, Shinpachi was taking a different approach to their predicament.

“Like hell we will be! Isn’t this some kind of Hyakki Yagyo?! If anything, we’re getting fed because we’re about to be eaten!”

“I’d like to see them try,” Kagura looked around the shabby-looking shikigami, scowling. “I don’t know about you, Shin-chan, but Yato flesh isn’t for the weak of heart. And Gin-chan’s sugar levels are way too high for anyone to try take a bite out off him, lest they wanna die from diabetes.”

“Demons,” Shinpachi muttered, resigned, his forehead dark under his bangs. “You’re the real ones here, aren’t you?”

And far from the only ones.

The sliding doors to the bath were suddenly opened, letting some cool air in, as well as revealing the silhouettes of three awfully familiar men. They were distinctive even through the thick steam rising from the water; none of them necessarily classifying as a shikigami. As in, the species of demons; metaphorically speaking -- at least two of them owned up to the image. Gintoki could feel his mouth go dry.

_Is this for real or have I been in the water for too long?_

He had to will himself to sit tight. The steam was too thick to see them clearly, but he could hear them well enough. Kondou’s substantial laugh rumbled merrily through the caved space.

“This is great, Toshi! Sougo! You don’t come across such a large nice bath every day! We should enjoy ourselves!”

“Kondou-san, you should wear swimwear,” came Okita Sougo’s flat voice, and Gintoki felt rather than saw Kagura bristling beside him in the water. “The sign says this is a mixed bath.”

“Don’t be modest, Sougo! This kind of thing is best enjoyed in the nude!”

_That’s not the problem here, Gorilla-san._

“Is that why you came, Kondou-san? I don’t remember inviting either you or the vermin over there.” 

Hijikata’s deep, weary voice carried through the steam, and it startled Gintoki to notice his own physical reaction to the sound of it; muscles going tense, and something in his chest gave a violent kind of start. His exhaling came out as a strange wheezing sound. Kagura gave him a sidelong glare, and he whacked her upon the head for no particular reason, thankful for the distraction her punching him right back provided. He rubbed the sore spot on the side of his head in annoyance, but it was not really directed at the Yato girl. 

_Now you turn up?! Useless fucking cop. Where’s your goddamn sense of timing?_

“Don’t be churlish, Hijikata-san.” Okita droned. “I told you I had two extra tickets, what was I supposed to do with them? Throw them away? Or would you rather that I had invited someone else for you to…”

“Alright, alright, whatever!” Hijikata snapped, and although Gintoki couldn’t see him, he had no trouble imagining his agitated face. Stupidly, he wished for that agitation to be directed his way. “Why you had tickets to this shady place to begin with is what’s really bothering me. I’ll definitely kill you if we get out of here unharmed.”

In the next moment, the three Shinsengumi officials emerged through the white vapour. A orangatang-like demon carrying an overlarge trident in one of her long arms was ushering them into the baths, looking slightly disgusted with the task as she pointed them in the direction of the same bath the Odd Jobs were in. She was making some weird noises, none of which sounded even remotely human.

Kondou seemed to understand her perfectly well, however.

“She says: ‘Here we are, the hotpot—sorry, the _hot water_ is for humans only. You have friends.’” he translated good-naturedly.

“She just said ‘hotpot’, didn’t she?” 

“Don’t be silly, Toshi! We’re guests here, guests!”

“Kondou-san,” Okita informed his commander solemnly. “She seems to have other plans for you.”

“Huh?”

The Orangatang-demon gestured at Kondou vividly, making a sign like an X with her arms before pointing to another, smaller basin a bit further off. A wooden sign reading ‘Gorilla Bath’ hang above it.

“WHY?!”

Kondou was wailing, Okita snickering, Kagura a dark cloud of pent-up rage waiting to be released upon her arch-nemesis, Shinpachi mumbling something along the lines ‘I honestly don’t know if I should be relieved or worried’, and Gintoki; well, Gintoki registered none of it. For at that very moment, Hijikata was looking their way, and the surroundings just about faded out.

There was a mildly stupefied expression floating across Hijikata’s face as he spotted them on the other side of the bath, his widened eyes lingering on Gintoki for what felt like eternity. At first, he didn’t seem to understand; he shook his head, strands of dark hair dancing, once, twice, then looked again, brow darkening and eyes narrowing incredulously. The words ‘no fucking way’ were written all over his face and Gintoki wanted to yell at him, tell him that it was his line, and that he had no fucking right to waltz in here looking shocked, and outraged, and wearing nothing but swim shorts; being all around inexcusably good-looking.

_Really, that’s your one fucking redeeming feature._

Gintoki grumbled inwardly but he still couldn’t help but stare. Decency be damned; there was a first for everything, and if this was supposed to be the first time he got a boner from watching another guy in the bath, so be it. It sucked big time it had to be Hijikata, but he couldn’t really deny that something was fluttering about his very blood at the sight of the Demon Vice Chief going all tense, curling his fists and glaring daggers in his general direction. Hijikata’s mouth was moving mutely, as though he was speaking to himself.

_What’s that, Hijikata-kun? Something you wanna share with the rest of the class?_

Gintoki leaned back again, half-aware of Okita and Kagura taking notice of each other and throwing the expected fit in the water. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“So the bakufu lapdogs grace us with their presence,” he said loftily, not a little delighted at the fact Hijikata came stomping towards him -- “who’re you calling a bakufu lapdog?! -- water splashing in all directions, hand reflexively reaching for the hilt of his sword; to no avail.

Today, they were nothing but the skin they wore.

“Must be nice,” Gintoki continued as though Hijikata’s existence was of no consequence to him, applying his most bored face. “Being able to go visit a hot spring resort to relax; all funded by hardworking Edo civilians, I assume. Wouldn’t you say so Patsuan? That’s the honorable Shinsengumi for you.”

“I feel like I should really comment on your manners, but I’m out of straight-man lines,” Shinpachi offered soullessly. “I was hoping maybe Hijikata-san could help me out in that department, seeing how he’s here now.”

_That, he is._

And all of his bottomless anger was directed at Gintoki.

“Tch! I think we’re pretty fucking well past the time of pretending you’re a hardworking anything, you worthless piece of shit!” 

“Oh? I’d have thought the police were obliged to treat common people with respect and care; regardless if they’re a doctor or a meter maid or a madao or whatever,” Gintoki droned. “Isn’t that part of your rotten code or something?”

“Don’t give me that shit! If anything I should have arrested you and your suspicious-looking mug ages ago!”

“What’s that about my face?! You stupid mayora should know better than insult Gin-san on his looks, no matter how jealous it makes you that I’ve been bestowed with such handsomeness!”

“Who’s jealous!? I couldn’t care less about your stupid face!”

Shinpachi heaved a small sigh.

“Not today, I guess.”

And, with an air of great resignation, he left the two bickering samurais to their own devices. Gintoki hardly noticed. Nor did he pick up on the way Kondou waved about his arms in his small basin in the corner, which looked like it might possibly be boiling, imploring ‘Otae-san’s precious little brother’ to come save him, or the way Kagura and Sougo had started knocking out the surrounding demon guards who had the misfortune to be caught up in their brawl. 

He saw only Hijikata. Hijikata, who was less than an arm's length from him, practically seething, sharp eyes flashing with fury as he yelled at him. Honestly, it it set Gintoki off in all kinds of ways -- none of them proper. 

_Now you see me._

He had no idea when that had started to matter so much, but his heart was relentlessly picking up in pace. Last time he’d seen Hijikata had been that time at the restaurant. Shit had certainly gone down then, and there was the uncontrollable passion attached to that memory, as well as the close-to amicable feeling of sharing a meal before silently parting ways. Much as he wanted to, that was not something he could forget, just like that. 

Hijikata seemed to have picked up on his silence, and was giving him a cautious look. Normally, they would have most probably been engaged in a fist-fight at this point, but as matters stood, Gintoki figured Hijikata wasn’t entirely comfortable with getting any closer. The reasons for that, only Gintoki knew -- and it sent a shot of undeniable excitement up his spine. 

_Gods have mercy on me, I really can’t behave myself around this asshole._

Ignoring the way his chest tightened up, Gintoki forced a stance of relaxation as he leant back against the edge of the bath again, eyes searching Hijikata’s.

“Hey, shithead. How about you greet me properly?” 

“Tch! That’s rich coming from someone who can’t even pronounce the word honorifics.”

“That’s not what I meant, Hijikata- _kun_.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know what you mean?” 

A frown played across Hijikata’s face, befuddlement mingling with wariness in the way he regarded Gintoki. Gintoki, who was stupidly mesmerised by the pearls of water on Hijikata’s bare skin, gathering in small pools in the dimples above his collarbones. Gintoki, who was quite unable of stopping himself at this point. 

“Are you stupid? A kiss, I’d have thought, wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

He was enjoying the look on Hijikata’s face way too much. Watching him struggle with the change of tone, trying to properly register the words spoken and react accordingly as telltale red spread across his cheeks; it just egged Gintoki on, on a carnal, dirty-as-hell, kind of level. This routine, he felt like he would never tire of. 

“Tch! Who’d want to kiss you?!”

Gintoki felt like smiling, but settled with raising a sceptical eyebrow. 

”I know a handful of people who wouldn’t mind.” He let his eyes sweep over Hijikata’s bare chest, knowing full well that he was pushing it. “But none of them blushes like that at the sheer thought, Vice-Chief.”

Gintoki was not in the least bit surprised at the way Hijikata turned away, shielding his burning face from him, the stream of profanities falling from his lips was positively polluting the air as he made to leave. 

Gintoki wasn’t done with him, though.

He moved on impulse, fast enough to catch Hijikata off guard as he slung his arms over his shoulders, and the cop stumbled into his chest, back first; so that Gintoki more or less embraced him from behind. For a stupified beat, they stood like that, skin-to-skin, hearts roaring, petrified by the absurdity of how good it felt. Then, Gintoki was becoming acutely aware of Hijikata’s naked, warm back pressed against him, the quick vibrations of his heart beating under his fingers, and he simply had to lean in one ungodly inch closer. For the shortest of moments, he nuzzled at the nape of Hijikata’s neck, loving the way the damp, silky hair smelled like clean cotton as it brushed against his nose; before he let his lips travel over to his left ear. 

“Can’t you tell that Gin-san’s happy to see you?” He breathed, being unforgivably earnest about it, as well as all the other physical reactions Hijikata’s closeness brought about. His heart seemed intent on beating its way straight out of his ribcage, and his cock was straining against the fabric of his swim shorts, hard as rock -- and what else would you expect? It was not every day he had it pressed up to the small of Hijikata’s very naked back. 

“Which part of you, bastard?!”

Gintoki knew he was over-stepping all sorts of unspoken boundaries and he was almost relieved to notice that Hijikata, at least, was reacting in line with his stupid character. His voice was a low growl as he shrugged him off, twisting free in a way suggesting he needed to be violent about it, but that was not entirely true.

Gintoki was already letting him go. 

A little dazed at his own impulsiveness, he could do nothing but look on as the Vice Chief staggered forwards in the water, obviously surprised at the lack of resistance on his part. Gintoki caught glimpse of his profile for a heart-breaking second, registered troubled eyes and dark red cheeks, and the panicky look on his face as he glanced around the bath. Strangely, Gintoki had the passing urge to comfort him, to reach out and cup his face in his hands and tell him that everything’s alright, really. 

_No one’s watching._

He was left to sort out that weird impulse on his own however, seeing how Hijikata had clearly reached his limit. Saying nothing, the Vice Chief stiffly waded through the water and made his way out of the baths. One of the few demons still standing was pointing and screaming at this, but no one stopped him. Gintoki would have liked to, though. Or not? 

_Oh for crying out loud, what’s going onnnn!!!_

He slipped down the hot water, draping an arm over his face. Part of him just wanted to go down in pixels like the Leukocyte King, but he was also feeling inexcusably turned on and weirdly elated and maybe he had got a concussion from when Kagura hit him before, right? That wouldn't be all that strange seeing how he was acting like a giant fucking moron. 

Speaking of the devil, Kagura came walking up beside him on the wooden flooring, brushing the dirt of her shoulders. Apparently, she had finally managed to knock Okita out cold. Gintoki spotted him slumped against the wall a bit further off, looking positively cross-eyed. He should probably be thankful for that.

“Gin-chan,” she said, giving him a disgusted look. “Your nose is bleeding.”

**. . .**

Hijikata probably added to the knocked-out demon count as he stalked angrily from the baths and towards his rooms, but he took no notice. His heartbeats were a steady drum inside his head, drowning out the surroundings. Be it shikigami or human; he was just in a blind need to get away from everyone’s eyes. Once inside the guest room he slid the doors shut fast and bonelessly sank down to the floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, he let his head fall back against the wall.

One moment; one godforsaken moment of skin against skin and those hot lips against his ear, whispering his _bullshit_ ; and he was in this state of cursed upheaval. The walk through the inn had cooled him off, just a little, at least he was not achingly hard anymore, but still -- _still_. It was just beyond laughable, how that idiotic perm head was able to wind him up, to the point he felt like imploding, so easily, again and again.

Hijikata let his head drop to his knees, clutching it with his hands. His breathing was evening out, but he still felt sick to his stomach. What had just transpired was already haunting him, the anxiety welling up like a clogging lump in his throat. There was just no end to it, was it? 

It just fucking _had_ to be him. 

He groaned into his hands, trying to block out the images of the Yorozuya’s mocking smile dancing across his inner vision. The physical attraction was consuming on a level he’d never before experienced, and his heart was cramping at the realisation. Perhaps a part of him had always been drawn towards Gintoki, whilst another part of him had fought it, fiercely; since that first time they crossed swords over Kondou’s honour, even. 

Much as he liked to deny it, they did share _something_ ; there had always been another side to his relationship with the Yorozuya. Hijikata could tell that it was more to the silver haired idiot than met the eye, just as he perceived the danger; it wasn’t like he was unable to see the darkness in him. He had just gotten so skilled at ignoring it, it kind of hurt even thinking about the nagging suspicion that Gintoki; for all he looked like, wasn’t at all unfamiliar with unspeakable pain and loss. Maybe not so unlike what he himself was struggling with.

The Yorozuya had watched him, back then, when she died. He’d been around, for some annoying reason Hijikata couldn’t remember, and in hindsight it didn’t make much sense -- but it had helped. Something about Gintoki’s presence had been strangely comforting. Although the bastard had never really known Mitsuba he’d gotten on her good side at the drop of a hat, then readily shouldered a part of the loss like it was his damn duty. In truth, it had used to infuriate Hijikata. He hadn’t wanted to address any other emotions connected to that event. It had just been crucial to keep the sadness at bay; and Gintoki, who’d seen it all, too.

He _had_ to keep him out. 

Some things were mortifying to admit, even to oneself. Even more so, since Hijikata knew, at some deep-down level, that the reason for his reluctant contempt towards Gintoki wasn’t really the past. It wasn’t their long-standing rivalry, not the Yorozuya’s questionable background or his rotten personality, even -- but the devilry in those red, heavy-lidded eyes. Hijikata wasn't a stranger to heartbreak, and he was pretty sure, if one was to look that word up in a dictionary; Gintoki’s name would be right next to it.

_I need a fucking cigarette._

The Yorozuya was intent on making it difficult for him, that much was clear. Hijikata wanted no part of it, that was also clear; so why was he so easily pulled back in, everytime that good-for-nothing showed up looking at him with eyes hazy with desire? Why on earth couldn’t he resist him? Therein; lay the heart of the problem. Hijikata was surprised at the way the corners of his eyes went hot, and he shook his head fervently, and slapped at his cheeks, hard. He loathed himself. This was beyond pathetic; this was reason enough to go disembowel himself on the spot.

_Or I could simply smoke myself to death. That’d be a laugh._

Inhaling deeply, he looked up, spotting his clothes neatly folded on a chair nearby, and resolutely got to his feet and headed over there, rummaging for the cigarettes in the pocket of his uniform jacket. Finding the packet and the lighter, he pulled one out and lit it up, taking a blissfully deep drag. A dark, clean yukata had been laid out for him, and he dressed himself slowly, meticulously, trying to force himself to focus on the surroundings. It was a well-used trick which usually worked when he desperately needed to get out of his own head.

_Alright._

Doing so, he noticed how well-kept and clean and _human like_ everything about his room was. The tatami-matted floors smelled fresh, the sliding doors were wide and eggshell white, a low wooden table with chairs in the middle of the room; keeping everything he would need for a cup of tea. Perhaps he had been too agitated before, upon entering the inn and discovering it was not really meant for human guests. Still, one had to give it to these demons. Despite how ugly-looking and mildly threatening they appeared, they sure as hell ran a neat little inn.

Cigarette in hand, Hijikata stepped out on the wooden porch, looking out on the beautiful little inner garden outside his room. The ground was covered in irises, ranging from a royal purple to delicate lavender, and they appeared to be in full bloom despite it still being winter, and not even close to the rainy season. _Maybe it’s summer in the world of demons?_ There was a stone pathway leading to a little pond in the middle of the garden; and as Hijikata made his way over to it, coming to gaze down the clear water, he discovered it to be a home to small green turtles and colourful koi. It was such peaceful a sight, he felt like staying there, gazing down on the carefree circle of life in the little pond, forever. 

“TOSHI! Where have you gone?! Someone’s stolen my clothes!”

He heard Kondou calling in despair from his rooms further inside the inn, and sighed. 

His life clearly was not destined to be peaceful. 

~

  
Dinner was a chaotic affair. 

Not that anything else was to be expected, given the premises; the worst kind of troublemakers in a less than ideal ( _hell, we’re probably prisoners here_ ) situation, gathered at the same dinner table. They were being served -- quite delicious-tasting food, although it was not really a mayonnaise buffet ( _curse you, Sougo_ ) -- by a bunch of birdlike shikigami with hooded eyes, who were all the while rasping sinisterly through their beaks. 

No one was paying the demons much attention, however. As the evening wore on, they were actually starting to look less like demons and more like well-behaved puppies in comparison with their human guests; Hijikata noted, wearily. 

Kondou was acting like an overgrown baby, sobbing about being singled out, which was probably kind of true, seeing how he was the only one who hadn’t gotten a traditional yukata to change into after the baths; but a banana costume. Hijikata listened to his ranting with half an ear, eyebrow twitching. Sougo was loudly bickering with China, both of them stuffing their mouths with food simultaneously, and Glasses was half-heartedly trying to calm them down. 

Their hopeless slob of a leader sat in the midst of it all, unperturbed as ever. He was looking unusually neat though, properly dressed for once, in a deep blue yukata which suited him annoyingly well. Not that Hijikata noticed. He did notice however, that he was well into the dessert before the main meal had barely been served, of bloody course. _Not a shred of etiquette left in you hnn?_ Gintoki was lazily spooning his ice cream with the air of a tired teacher; altering between yelling at the kids and offering them sage-like advices none of them was even remotely interested in hearing. 

Apart from that, he did not say much. 

That, in itself, didn't bother Hijikata all that much. It was the fact that he didn't say anything _to him,_ which truly irked him. The Yorozuya had not properly looked at him even once since they entered the dining room, and Hijikata was annoyed to realise he found it unsettling in more ways than he cared to count. He simply didn’t know what to make of a non-provocative Gintoki; it should’ve been a relief but it just… wasn't. 

_What the hell are you playing at?_

There was a rebellious part of Hijikata which longed to scream at the self-indulgent idiot, force him to look his way, to drop one of his rude-ass comments and give him a legit reason to _snap_ already. The other part was more sensible, telling him soberly that; _that_ was stupid and why couldn't he just be thankful for the respite? Either way, he hated Gintoki for always causing him distress, and an aching head. 

Hijikata scowled, looking down his hands which were tightly clutching his chopsticks. He hadn’t eaten much, but it seemed he wasn’t hungry, so it didn’t really matter. Perhaps he ought to just go back to his room, where he could have a smoke in peace and not be bothered by _not_ being looked at. Even thinking about it, he felt pathetic enough to want to disappear from the face of earth. _Damn it._ Hijikata detected Sougo’s sidelong glance a little bit too late. Too late to realign his facial features, and too late to cough and hurriedly stuff some fried fish into his mouth; but he did it anyway. 

“Hijikata-san, if you don’t feel well you should probably go back to your room.”

“Hnn?” Hijikata startled, dropping the chopsticks.

“What? Are you feeling sick, Toshi?” Kondou chimed in immediately, sounding concerned. Of course, their commander wore his heart on his sleeve and would forever be conveying his emotions without a care in the world. Normally, Hijikata was kind of grudgingly respecting Kondou-san because of exactly these qualities. 

Right now however, he was nothing but vexed at the misdirected sympathy.

“Who’s said anything about being sick?” He grumbled. “I’m fine, dammit!”

“You sure, Hijikata-san? You look awfully pale.” Sougo was looking right at him, maroon eyes a dead sea of terrors to come, and Hijikata knew that look all too well. 

“Yes, now you say it… He’s looking a bit under the weather,” Kondou agreed, giving Hijikata a deeply worried look, hands coming up to touch his forehead. “Hmm, you might be having a fever, even.”

“I’m not!!” Hijikata snapped, swatting his hands away angrily. “The hell’s wrong with the two of you?! I’m telling you there’s nothing wrong --”

“Maybe it’s something he’s eaten,” Sougo interjected flatly. “Or, worse yet; it’s because of what he _hasn’t_ eaten. It’s been twelve hours already.” 

Kondou’s eyes widened dramatically.

“Sougo. Are you saying… that he is… No, you can’t be serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am, Kondou-san.” Sougo continued in his doomsday voice. “He’s most likely going into withdrawal as we speak, in which case…” He paused for dramatic effect, and if the silence which had fallen around the table was anything to go by, he had successfully gained everybody’s attention. “Well, I’ll just come out and say it. Mayorin’s Disease is not something one should take lightly. He might not have long left.”

“No, no… That can’t be… Toshi!!!” Kondou sobbed into his handkerchief.

Hijikata, who had been sitting very still in between them, forehead dark and fingers twitching, felt the agitation reach a peak of no return. 

“WHAT THE HELL’S MAYORIN’S DISEASE?!” He bellowed, and he moved to strangle Sougo, but was unfortunately prevented by Kondou, who had thrown his arms around him, wailing into his neck.

“I never knew it was this severe, Toshi, I swear! If only I had known!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Gori!” China exclaimed, leaning forward to grab Kondou’s legs. ”He’s a lost case!”

“Be careful, Kagura-chan!” Glasses butted in. “We don’t know if it’s contagious!”

“Just how serious is this condition?!” Hijikata roared, wiggling his way out of Kondou’s embrace, onto his feet. “And why are you idiots giving up on me so easily, it pisses me off!”

Cursing under his breath, Hijikata decided to leave before things got even more out of hand. He simply had no energy left to deal with any it. As he turned around, for a fluttering little fraction of a second, his gaze swept over the Yorozuya and he caught a glimpse of his face. Gintoki was watching him amusedly, red eyes directed solely at his being; and he was smiling, this fond, warm smile Hijikata had rarely seen on him before. 

It sent butterflies on rampage in his stomach.

**. . .**

tbc.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyakki Yagyō* Japanese folklore idiom, translates into "Night Parade of One Hundred Demons"
> 
> As for this chapter, I feel like I'm really not quite done with Hijikata POV, so yes, expect more of that in part two 💙


	6. If Your Demons Play Well Together, It's More or Less a Done Deal: Pt 2

That night, Hijikata’s new friend insomnia was, for some reason; blissfully absent. Perhaps the events of the day had taken a greater toll on him than he had realised. It didn’t seem to matter that he was about to go to sleep in a place he was not accustomed to either; as soon as he put his head on the soft pillows, he was drifting into a heavy state of sleep, nothing at all like the light, restless kind he had been getting used to lately. 

His small solacement proved to be short-lived, however. Half-way through the night, slumbering instincts nudged at his consciousness, reaching all the way through the layers of exhaustion to point out that _something was not right._ Hijikata awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright on his futon; every single cell in his body acutely aware of the fact that he was not alone. 

He reflexively reached for his katana. Then he remembered; they had been stripped off their weapons upon entering the inn, and his hands came back to his chest, feeling his racing heart with frightful clarity. Trying to calm his breathing, he glanced about the dim room. He felt like he had only slept for minutes, but the pale moonlight slanting in from the garden told him it was well past midnight. Everything in the room was cast in long shadows, but looked otherwise exactly like he remembered it. 

No one was crouching in a dark corner, he heard no unfamiliar breathing outside the doors, no steps across the corridor floors. His skin was still crawling with the certain knowledge that he had woken up for a reason though. He got to his feet silently, picking up a small paper knife from the desk in the corner of his room and slipped it inside the sleeve of his yukata. Warily, he turned towards the only place he had not yet considered. 

_The porch._

The silhouette of a man was darkly outlined against the translucent sheets of paper of the sliding doors, sitting with his back turned to him. Hijikata’s heart gave a violent jolt as he recognised that back. Suddenly, he had no trouble detecting the very faint smell of strawberries on the air, and he berated himself for not noticing sooner. Who else would come bother him in the middle of the night? He slid the doors opened, feeling a little queasy, almost -- was he nervous? 

_As if! I’m gonna kill him, is all._

Gintoki was looking typically relaxed, leaning back on his arms so that his weight was spread over his hands, head tipped back and gaze directed at the starry sky, as though he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe. That idea was ridiculous to Hijikata however, and he shook his head, impatient with himself. Gintoki being here was bad news, and he had to deal with him quickly. Pulse speeding, he took a deep breath, and stepped out on the porch. 

“Oh,” Gintoki cast him a sidelong glance. “It’s you.”

“Who else would it be?!” Hijikata hissed, temper immediately flaring at the sight of the dead look in his eyes.

What else was new.

“I dunno,” Gintoki shrugged. “Thought it might’ve been the Shinsengumi phantom sixth man or something.”

“Tch, that’s not funny, idiot. What are you doing here?”

“Stargazing?”

“Stargazing, my ass!” 

“What, that against the law?”

“I’m asking you what you’re doing _here,_ on my porch, in the middle of the fucking night?”

“Your porch, is it?” Gintoki raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m here then. Because it’s yours.”

Hijikata frowned, a little taken aback. He didn't want to know what Gintoki was playing at this time. Honest to God, he just needed him to leave already. The sugar-addict had turned his head to look at the sky again, the silver of his hair shining brightly in the light of the moon. Even as Hijikata was standing a few feet away from him on the wooden deck, his presence was affecting him; heart jumping about and skin prickly with the foreboding sense of trouble to come. Just as he was about to ask him to bugger off, Gintoki spoke. 

“Are you alright?” 

Hijikata stared at his back, incredulously.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. It’s just -- what the hell did Sougo say to you guys?”

“Nothing. It just so happens I have two eyes of my own, Hijikata-kun.”

“So what are you saying? You were worried about me or something?” Hijikata asked dryly. The preposterousness of it almost had him chuckle -- almost. Gintoki’s silence was too unexpected. 

Hijikata was surprised to see him lean forward, arms coming to rest over his legs instead, though he did not move to stand. Something about that back, the deep blue fabric stretched across his broad shoulders as he hunched slightly, was a little troubling. Hijikata could only guess at his expression. Incidentally, he also wanted to punch the bastard for taking so long; the question hung in the air for what felt like eternities before he spoke.

“Would that be bad?”

“Would that be… I don’t know! Are you taking the piss?” Hijikata demanded, shielding the tremor in his voice with anger.

“I’m not, you stupid asshole,” Gintoki turned to glare at him. “Are you gonna answer or not?”

“I’m…” Hijikata stared into the Yorozuya’s unusually vivid eyes, thrown. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Gintoki turned his head away again, and Hijikata could see his shoulders slump, ever so slightly.

_So -- wait. What? You really were worried about me?_

He shook his head, not ready to believe it. Gintoki was standing up. Back to him, he rolled his shoulders back, then stretched his arms.

_How long have you been sitting here?_

“I’m off then,” he announced, so nonchalantly, so outrageously out of the blue; Hijikata had to ask. Why, he really needed to know.

“Is that why you came here?”

His voice came out low, but clear. There was no fear in it, and as Gintoki slowly turned to look at him, he was proud of the way he was able to meet his eye without faltering.

“I came here because I can’t sleep,” Gintoki said, and Hijikata didn’t have to wonder if he was being earnest or not; those gleaming, almost sad, red eyes told him all about it. It was like an invisible hand reached right into Hijikata’s chest and _squeezed_ at what was in the centre of it, causing him to feel light-headed, and a little out of breath. 

The Vice Chief didn't have the words to convey such a feeling, though.

“So what if you can’t sleep? I still don’t see why you have to come bother me about it in the middle of the night.”

Gintoki looked at Hijikata as though he thought it self-explanatory, shaking his head.

“Are you stupid? Whose fault do you think it is I can’t get any sleep?”

_I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know._

Hijikata knew he should chew the irredeemable jerk out for always trying to shift the blame onto him, but the words got caught in his throat. To be honest, it was more like Gintoki was stealing his lines, really; the ones he didn’t dare to spell out. Staring at the other samurai in silence, he _did_ feel like the biggest idiot, but he simply didn’t know how to respond. 

“No? Nothing? I’m leaving, then,” Gintoki’s eyes had gone back to their habitual state of lifelessness and Hijikata could not say if he was relieved about that, or if he really, really hated it. It would be for the best if Gintoki did just that -- leave, a faint, dwindling voice in the back of his head told him. That was what he had aimed for all along, after all. And yet, _yet_ ; the prospect of having that back turned to him again was not in the least bit appealing.

“I don’t sleep well, either, bastard,” he blurted, and his heart just about skipped a beat, as Gintoki slowly turned back to face him; the idle expression once more yanked out of place.

“Really?” he said, his eyes alive again, a teasing smile close to the surface. ”And here I was envious of the fact you seemed to be sleeping like a baby, in there. No need for that kind of jealousy, hnn?” Gintoki went on in a sing-song voice that pissed Hijikata off to the extent he forgot to process the meaning of those words. “What’s troubling Hijikata-kun? If you tell, Gin-san might be able to help~

Gintoki showed him his open palms in a gesture of mock goodwill.

“Nothing’s troubling me!”

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that now. You just admitted you don’t sleep well, it goes without saying there’s a reason for that. I showed you mine -- now you show me yours. Playground level rules.”

Hijikata clenched his fists. This was not going at all like he had hoped. In any case, he had no clue what he was hoping for; he just knew they were straying towards that one brazen subject he absolutely did not want to discuss with anyone, least of all Gintoki, and why? Why did it always come to this? He was completely bent out of shape and that moron was having a laugh. 

_I can’t keep losing like this._

Inhaling, Hijikata raised his gaze in determination and gave Gintoki a hard stare.

“Why did you ignore me earlier?”

Had he not been so tense, his heart pounding so pathetically hard inside his chest; Hijikata might have had relished the expression on Gintoki. He looked downright shocked at first, eyes wide with wonder, then narrowed in incredulity.

“Why did I --” he repeated, shaking his head. “Ignore you? You mean at dinner? I -- you’re serious, aren’t you?”

Hijikata hated Gintoki for asking and he felt his face going hot, but he didn’t want to back down at this point, either. He had come this far, he might as well follow through on it. The least the bastard could do was to explain his rude behaviour towards him. 

“Yes, I’m fucking serious,” he growled, not looking away.

“Jeez,” Gintoki scratched the back of his head, still looking a bit thrown, but also annoyed. “Well, if you must know, I couldn’t really look at you.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at me? Why?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Gintoki’s voice was going hoarse; he was finally losing his cool. “You should know _why,_ by now! Goddamnit, how about you try using that one brain cell inhabiting your head for once?”

“What did you say?!”

“I said, you’re too fucking stupid to see what’s right in front of you, dumbass.”

“I see one single idiot, and he’s trying to dodge the subject!”

“I’m not dodging anything! I’m telling you, I _couldn’t_ fucking look at you, what more do you want me to say?!” Gintoki’s eyes were alight with heated emotions at this point, but Hijikata had no time contemplating the meaning of that or his own actions, as the other man was walking up to him with the air of someone who’s had enough. A gust of air caught his yukata momentarily, making it flutter in the wind, silver locks sweeping over his darkening forehead as he came to a halt in front of Hijikata. “Ever heard of self-preservation?” 

_Curse you._

Hijikata was helpless to this feeling, but for a little moment, he was entranced by the samurai in from of him, so clearly outlined in the moonlight against the backdrop of the beautiful garden -- a shameful part of him recognising how heart-stoppingly handsome Gintoki was.

“I don’t follow, bastard,” he growled, standing his ground despite it all, feet firmly planted to the porch, back straight.

“Oh, isn’t this a fun game, Hijikata-kun?” Gintoki scoffed. “You keep pretending you don’t get it, and Gin-san has to spill the beans, over and over. You’re driving me fucking nuts, can’t you tell?”

Hijikata shuddered, involuntarily. Gintoki being angry at him was commonplace; it was that, and it was _this_. Gintoki being properly angry, and he should just reply in kind like usual, but he felt drained of his own anger, left with the wonder at these words, feeling edgy, scared; and inexorably excited. 

_What the fuck’s wrong with me?!_

“I’m not playing any game, idiot,” he managed, scowling, fixed on Gintoki’s face. “Why the hell would I? Which part of this is fun to you?” 

At this, the shadows of a sardonic smile passed by the Yorozuya’s features, and he moved a step closer, intentionally invading Hijikata’s comfort zone and bringing with him all the physical evidence of his closeness. Hijikata was sure he could never get used to it, the way the smell of the other man drew him in, as he inhaled it; he wanted him to be even closer. Now, this _was_ getting out of hand. And Gintoki, as per freaking usual, was way too well-versed in smelling the surrender on him.

“I don’t know about you, Vice Chief,” the devil was smirking by now, his voice softening. “But I’m having a blast.” 

And he was right there; warm hands coming up to cup his face, fingers caressing his burning cheeks. Hijikata was once more locked in place by those surprisingly tender hands, by the mesmerising crimson eyes watching him too intently, and by the very fact that he was supposed to hate this, but clearly did not. _I don’t want him to know about that._ He closed his eyes.

“Is this your way of saying ‘let’s kiss and make up’, Hijikata-kun?” Gintoki asked in that spine-tingling deep voice of his, and Hijikata could feel the idiot’s hot breath against his skin; way too close, way too far away.

“Shut up,” Hijikata sighed, a puff of air being Gintoki’s low chuckle against his ear, then those lips were lightly kissing a path along his neckline, and he had to draw for breath. Hijikata’s skin felt like an electric field under those lips, under the fingers which were still tracing the outlines of his cheekbones, then moved on to stroke his hair back from his face, under the mouth carefully following; planting lots upon lots of small kisses to his forehead, temples, eyebrows, eyelids.

_The hell are you doing?!_

It was way too intimate and part of Hijikata wanted to tell him to stop, but something in the way Gintoki came to thread his fingers through his hair, gently tugging at it as he kissed all the parts of his face his lips could reach -- just made it bloody impossible. The idiot was clearly into it and Hijikata -- _well_. He was beyond mortified to admit it, but having never experienced such a physical onslaught of affection directed at his very being; he could not really do anything but secretly enjoy it. 

As he opened his eyes, Gintoki had drawn back slightly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. His cheeks, Hijikata was shocked to notice, had taken on a faint reddish hue. 

“Are you gonna invite me in?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Hijikata grumbled, averting his gaze. “What are you, a vampire?”

Something like the smile he had seen on him at dinner was creeping back into Gintoki’s face, colouring it with a warmth Hijikata didn't know if he could stand. Or resist.

“If you insist, Hijikata-kun.”

“I don’t! Dammit,” he cursed, grabbing the infuriating fool by the collar of his yukata. “Come here.”

It was easy, way too easy, to pull Gintoki towards him, towards his mouth and the kiss he’d been trying not to long for. Opening his mouth to that eager, sweet-tasting tongue, letting Gintoki kiss him deeply, earnestly, pushing him backwards into the guest room again, towards the futon -- it was all happening in a flow of movements and breaths and unbridled _want_ breaking free. Hijikata had no mental energy left to hate just how good it felt, because at this point he had already lost and he might as well just go with it, no? 

Like always, Gintoki was _blocking out_ the non-essentials. Hijikata’s inner chaos was being consumed; eradicated by his solid frame, his insolent hands which were tugging at his clothes, slipping in under the fabric and touching everything they could reach. Everything he normally had to fight to keep at bay was tapering off into nullity under those hands, and it was exactly like he wanted it. 

_Some sort of drug, are you?_

Hijikata was hazily aware, that in a slightly different situation, he would have beaten the degenerate senseless for his unacceptable behaviour and for the unabashed urgency with which he kissed him -- but that it also provided the perfect cover for his own desperate need to be touched, and to touch. For the first time, he allowed himself that freedom; and Gintoki was not shy about how he felt about _that_. As Hijikata’s hands embarked on their rough, impatient journey under his yukata, along the muscular frame of his upper body and back; he groaned into his mouth, a sound like a deep purr against his lips, and firmly moved to press him up against the wall next to the futon. 

_Here we are again._

Hijikata felt a deep throb of arousal at the base of his back as he felt all of Gintoki’s body rigid and hot with want pressed close to his, and he had to fight back a needy moan. At the heart of it was the realisation that he could not with confidence say that he would be able break free if Gintoki got _real serious_ , and he was sure that made him more than a little deranged; but who could blame him once that sweet-smelling idiot was breathing his name?

“Gods, _Hijikata…”_

Hijikata left his boiling blood in charge as he ground into Gintoki, going weak with need at the sweet friction of the other’s knee, pressed up between his legs. He unthinkingly jerked the yukata off Gintoki’s shoulders, so that it came to fall down over his obi and revealed all of his chest to his roaming hands. _Is it really me, doing this?_ Enma was most likely laughing at him down in hell, but Hijikata felt like it didn’t matter much; since it was probably that hellish creature who had bestowed him with his thirst for blood to begin with, as well as the primal urges he couldn’t really keep in check any longer. He had never before touched another man with the questionable intentions presently soaring through his mind, and even though it was _Gintoki_ , for fuck’s sake; or maybe just for that reason -- it made him hot with shame-riddled desire. 

“Shitty bastard”, Gintoki was breathing heavily. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

“Who’re you to speak?” Hijikata shot back, too hot to really care about the way his voice came out all husky and low.

The Yorozuya’s chuckle was a shiver-inducing vibration against his neck, and he reached down in between them to rub his hand over the aching bulge under Hijikata’s clothing.

“Well, I don’t remember ever saying I don’t enjoy it, shithead. You, on the other hand, are a different story altogether. A dishonest fucking story, if you ask me,” Gintoki murmured, so unbearably close to Hijikata’s ear, hand sneaking in to wrap around him, thumb teasingly circling the head of his cock. “Why don’t you just come out and tell Gin-san you want it real bad for once?”

“Shut. Up.”

_Why can’t I keep it together when this bastard talks dirty?_

In truth, it was almost enough to send him over the edge and Hijikata felt his head spin at the prospect of coming like that. _No way in hell._ He instinctively reached down to touch Gintoki with the vague intention of gaining back some territory, working his hand in under the garment and grabbing his straining erection. It was silkily hot in his fist and Gintoki’s voice was a deep-in-the-gutter moan when he tightened his grip around it and _just_ _how_ was this helping? Touching him only left him feeling hotter and when Hijikata thought it couldn't get any worse, or any better -- Gintoki dropped down to his knees.

_What are you doing?!_

The Shinsengumi Vice Chief stared down at the Yorozuya in disbelief. He was met with a lustful, lazy grin as Gintoki peered up at him from under his bangs, eyes a brumous sea of desire. Hijikata could all but smell the devilry on him as he reached up to push his clothes out of the way, the other hand travelling up the inside of his thigh, then leaned in close to lick at the sensitive skin there. Hijikata inhaled shakily, hyper aware of the tremble in his legs, the goosebumps prickling his arms, the blood coursing south with an irrepressible force. _Fuck._ Gintoki’s hot mouth was becoming the centre of the universe, and Hijikata knew that he was done for.

. . .

Gintoki didn’t know what _the hell_ he was doing. 

He was going down a completely new kind of route, guided by nothing but instinct and senseless arousal, and it would be a lie to say that he was overly confident about it. It was not like he had been with another guy in this kind of situation before; much less giving head. Then again, he was not unfamiliar with the _concept_ of doing it, he’d experienced it being done to him at countless occasions, and simply _being_ a guy surely worked in his favour, no? _Whatever._ It was useless, even trying to focus on one of the mental remarks ambling by his foggy mind, and Gintoki resorted to what he did best; leaving matters to be dealt with along the way. He could always cross that bridge later.

So far, it seemed to be working just fine. Perhaps he should have been a little surprised at how natural it came to him, even, taking Hijikata in his mouth. He tasted nice, clean and oddly familiar. Gintoki lapped along the length of his cock feeling part lightheaded and part proud of how his actions caused Hijikata to let out a low, suppressed moan and stumble back against the wall in apparent surrender.

_You like this, bastard? It’s your fault this isn’t PG-13 anymore!_

Not that Gintoki particularly minded. In fact, current developments were definitely to prefer to the hideous shoujo manga setting he’d been trapped in all evening. Just thinking about it had him squirming in mental discomfort. As fate would have it, he was as hopeless as ever at dealing with the annoying cop, and he had soon realised that; if he’d been having trouble sleeping lately, it was nothing compared to trying to sleep _in the same building_ as Hijikata. 

All his mind had seemed capable of was presenting him sinful flashbacks of their encounter in the baths. The mayo addict’s flustered face had proven especially difficult to get rid of, the disruptive flash in his eyes almost as haunting as the memory of his warm back pressed close to his chest, and the unsteady rhythm of his heart under his fingers. The overwhelming shots of excitement these memories brought forward was not even the worst part of it. 

No, that would be the other, unnamable feeling gripping relentlessly at his insides; this horrible ache in the centre of his chest -- _R.I.P. Sakata Gintoki, once a JUMP protagonist --_ which had driven him to aimlessly wander up and down the corridors of the inn instead of even trying to sleep. Worse yet, had been the nagging knowledge that Hijikata was _within reach._ That he could, if he wanted to, just sneak past the drowsy demon guards, into his rooms, and take a little peek at his sleeping face. 

Just to make sure that he was okay, really.

Like a lovesick fool. 

_Fuck no._

This, Gintoki figured, suited him much better. Down on his knees, sucking the cock of a man who in all likelihood hated his guts; like it was all he had ever done. The bittersweet irony of it all caused him to let out a smothered chuckle, and there was a subsequent tremor running through Hijikata’s body as Gintoki drew back slightly, giving the head of his cock a careful sweep with his tongue, before letting it slide into his mouth anew, slowly.

“Ah, hnn!”

Hijikata’s hands came down to rest at the top of his head, almost tentative at first, like he didn’t know if he was allowed, but then Gintoki let him in a little deeper and those hands were full of his hair, fingers running through it in a way Gintoki found most encouraging. He loved how he could feel the tremors in Hijikata’s fingers, and the lack of control in his movements as he tugged a bit too hard on a strand of hair, causing Gintoki to feel it at the roots; as well as down his crotch.

_Since when was I into hair-pulling?_

He was once again feeling it when Hijikata was being a little bit rough, courtesy of that crude personality of his and nothing else, Gintoki was sure, but still. It was all new to him. There was nothing refined about the way Hijikata touched him, no plan or agenda, but just plain old cardinal desire; which he obviously had no idea how to control. A part of Gintoki was aware, maybe, that it was part of the reason he was so forcefully attracted to the moron. Hijikata just lit his fire; without fucking knowing it, he sent Gintoki’s mind spiralling downwards and brimming with the prospect of having the cop _under him_ , in all sorts of ungodly ways. Heat flooded his veins at the sheer, fleeting idea. No matter how fucked up it made him, Gintoki knew -- and acknowledged -- by now, that he wanted Hijikata to squirm and moan and beg for it.

_I want you to feel so good you’ll never be able to forget about it._

And Hijikata _was_ in a state of need. Gintoki needed no one to tell him that, nor about how the sounds the other samurai was making affected _him_. Hijikata’s heavy breathing broken by low, throaty moans and small gasps just tipped the scales. Gintoki could not help but to reach down and grip his own aching cock, unsurprised to find it impossibly hard and weeping already. 

_You’ll be the fucking death of me._

The act of touching himself, while taking Hijikata deeper into his mouth, held equal parts shame and arousal, briefly, then the latter grew unbearable and swiped away the rest. Gintoki felt like for a moment all he could do was to oblige to the heat pooling down his loins, to Hijikata’s urgent hands in his hair, pressing him closer, and those hips bucking; almost making him choke, and the incoherent stream of curses falling from the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief’s lips. 

Then there was this other, small, though clear, utterance to go with it.

“Ah, hnn…that’s too… _Gintoki_.”

Hijikata was saying, no -- correction: _moaning_ \-- his first name; and Gintoki was past rational thinking. He did something which he was well aware he might later regret. He opened his eyes and looked upwards, pausing, though his lips were still wrapped around Hijikata’s dick, his hand coming up to curl around the base of it. Hijikata was looking down at him, red-cheeked, his eyes glossy and heavy-lidded, but nevertheless intensely _watching_. Gintoki met his eye, and pulled back a little, then leaned back in and let his tongue swirl around the tip of his cock once more, tryingly, while squeezing his hand around the base, moving it slowly.

Hijikata shuddered, cursed, but did not break eye contact. It was no doubt about _who_ he was looking at, or what he was feeling about it. Gintoki’s head spun with the realisation, as he took in the drawn-together eyebrows, the ill-concealed want mingling with the embarrassment the idiot cop would forever be the worst at hiding. It was becoming his favourite face on him, and it relentlessly drove him towards the edge. Gintoki could feel his spine tingling, almost hurting, with the thrill of it, and his other hand was helplessly moving faster, and he did not care if Hijikata could tell that he was reaching a point he could not come back from. 

Hell, he wanted him to know. 

As he released his grip on Hijikata’s dick, the other man started to move with a kind of ecstatic urgency, and Gintoki discovered he could not do much but move with the flow of the moment. His hand was going slick with precum from his own arousal, and his work on Hijikata was becoming sloppy and uneven as he fought to keep it together for a little bit longer, focus slipping and crumbling under the building pressure. Hazily recalling his own preferences, Gintoki opened the back of his throat to allow him in deeper; thinking nothing about the consequences.

Hijikata seemed to, however. 

“N-no! Hnn, Gin -- stop -- I’m gonna --”

_I want you to._

There was no way in hell he could tell Hijikata that, though -- quite literally; but he also felt a little strange about it. He was not even sure where that wish came from, or why it suddenly felt so crucial, but he had had it, and now he couldn’t let it go. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly; something like that, right? 

There was not much time for reflection, anyway. Hijikata was starting to tremble, his knees shaking as he made a half-hearted attempt at pulling out, but Gintoki reached up and steadily held on to hips, drawing him in deeper instead, momentarily fighting back the reflex to gag. It proved to be too much for Hijikata; who came with a deep shuddering grunt, hands curling into balls filled with Gintoki’s hair, and it should have hurt, but it just didn’t for some reason. The taste of his warm pleasure was filling Gintoki’s mouth, briefly, before he reflexively swallowed -- and it was not all that bad.

_You’re not all that bad._

Gintoki finally let go. Eyes glued to Hijikata’s flustered, unfocused expression he let his mind check out, the movements of his hand went jerky and the heat was just irrepressible. Once, twice -- _enough_. Enough to send him flying into a state of blissful _nothing,_ and he came violently all over his own hand with a drawn-out groan. Knowing that Hijikata was watching just made it so much better, and he felt like he rode the high of his climax forever, before he slowly returned to his body. Then, he had to consider if it actually made it worse, come to think of it, that the cop had been watching.

_I really don’t care, do I?_

He was probably going to feel pathetic about this later, but now was now, and in the end of the day Hijikata was in no better state -- if the ragged breathing and burning cheeks were anything to go by.

_Adorable idiot._

Gintoki sat back on his heels, and watched the other man from under his bangs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slowly, not wholly capable of suppressing the smile which wanted to rupture through.

“You owe me one, Hijikata-kun,” he said, loving the way Hijikata’s eyes widened a little, before he averted his gaze, scoffing.

“Bastard. I don’t recall ever making you do something you didn’t want.”

_What are you talking about?_

Hijikata’s hair fell forward to shield his eyes and Gintoki could tell he was about to move away, so he reached up and gave the sleeve of his yukata a tug. It was not all that forceful a tug, but obviously all it took for his knees to give in on him, causing him to slump down the floor, facing Gintoki with his back against the wall. Their gazes were suddenly aligned, and Gintoki was startled to notice that Hijikata’s sharp eyes held a fair amount of resentment. It did not go well at all with his still-red cheeks.

“I never said that you did, knobhead,” Gintoki said, and he wanted to pull the idiot into an embrace, and it was a very near thing, but the sudden defensive coldness in his face held him back. 

_Why’re you looking like that?_

It annoyed him immensely, how thick-headed Hijikata could be at times. The bastard just _refused_ to listen to what he was saying. A part of Gintoki wanted to strangle him for being so stubborn, reading the wrong assumptions into every little thing he said but then again; who was he to say what was right? What did he really mean? Gintoki had a vague understanding of his own lack of communication skills after all. He was pretty certain though, that Hijikata was on a different level altogether -- a level of mayonnaise-induced dumbness no ordinary person could ever hope to beat. Gintoki was lazy by default, but not ordinary, nor a complete jerk. He didn’t know why, but he found he wanted to get through to him. 

Probably. 

_I’ll handle this in a mature and gentlemanly fashion._

“Listen, dumbass,” Gintoki began, having half-made up his mind. “When I say stuff like that, I don’t -- “ he trailed off, as his eyes picked up on a little object on the floor next to Hijikata. “Hmm? What’s this, Hijikata-kun?” He picked up the paper knife feeling inappropriately amused. “Was this supposed to keep me at bay? Were you afraid of losing your virtue or something? Really, I should be the one --”

“GIN-CHAAAAAAAAAN!!!” 

Kagura’s howling was followed by a ear-deafening ruckus; it sounded like the entire inn was awake and running along the corridors, breaking walls and roofs as they went. Knowing the Yato girl, that could just as well have been all her doing, though. For a fleeting second, Gintoki cursed the timing, he didn't want to play the adult right now; he wanted to _be_ the adult, the one wiping that depressing expression off Hijikata’s face, no less.

_It’s not meant to be, is it?_

As it was, he barely had time to get to his feet before the door was blown away by a flying kick, and a pyjama-clad Kagura emerged through the smoke and splinters of the broken doorway. Her fists were clenched at her sides and she wore an urgent scowl.

“Gin-chan, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Kagura, what have I told you about disturbing grown-ups when they go off without telling you?” Gintoki groused, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s either because they want to take a dump in peace or--“

“It’s the demons,” Kagura interrupted him. “They’ve all gone berserk!”

As if to emphasise her words, a open-mouthed, snarling shikigami came charging in from the side; promptly meeting its destiny against Kagura’s well-placed fist, and fell to the ground lamely, emitting a little cloud of blue smoke. 

“Huh? Why?” Gintoki frowned, trying not to look at Hijikata, who had gotten to his feet as well, adjusting his clothes. _Vigilant as ever, hnn._ “They’ve been behaving like meek little lambs until now, what’s going on?”

“It’s Shin-chan,” Kagura explained over her shoulder, knocking out another attacking demon with her elbow. “He went to look for Pandemonium. I told him it was a bad idea but you know how boys his age are in constant heat so it was no use.”

“That idiot,” Gintoki sighed, running a hand over his face. He should have seen this coming. It was just that, his head had been elsewhere since Hijikata showed up, so to speak -- and Shinpachi’s illusions of a shikigami girlfriend had admittingly not exactly been top priority. “Where’s he now?”

“In the cellars. They got him. Says he did the one thing humans aren’t allowed to do in here; trying to steal shikigami snacks.” A small cloven hoofed demon was crushed under Kagura’s swinging leg as she came to turn around, big blue eyes scanning the room as though she properly registered the people in it for the first time. “Why are you in Toshi’s room, anyway?” She looked between them. “Are you in heat, too, Gin-chan?”

_Something like that._

”Adult business, Kagura.” Gintoki told her as he shrugged back into his yukata. “Nothing for you to stick your snotty nose into.”

Kagura raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“You’ve done it now, Gin-chan,” she observed, giving Hijikata’s ruffled hair a blunt look. “We really will be moved to the night time slot at this rate.” 

_Totally worth it, too._

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll deal with that later,” Gintoki huffed, stomping on a demon shaped like a snake which had slithered into the room and was currently trying to wrap itself around his legs. “Now take me to the rotten virgin so that I can beat some sense into him.”

Hijikata spoke up just as they were about to exit the room.

“Oi, Yorozuya.” His voice was level and formal. “I’m going to find another way into the cellars. Don't hold back.”

Gintoki paused, and glancing over his shoulder, he was met with all the the seriousness of Hijikata Toushirou the Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi. His heart made a little stop at the arresting beauty that figure held, all determination and unquestionable loyalty, and he couldn’t help but smile as he nodded in affirmation.

He received an almost invisible inclination of head in return. 

~

Later, when Gintoki looked back at their chaotic stay at Onmyoji Ryokan, and the events that took place there, he found most of it to be a blur in his head. He could hardly trace the outlines of their arrival, or their leaving. There had been this messy brawl once the demons turned on them by the end of it; in which not only Hijikata but also the other two Shinsengumi officers managed to get themselves caught up in. He had a vague memory of rescuing Shinpachi, unharmed but emotionally scarred all over again -- _“I told you, Shin-chan, that I would eat her if it came to this. Gin-chan always says, the uglier it looks, the tastier it is.”_ \-- and they had probably written history by being the first human beings who were actually getting _thrown out_ , and banned for life, from a shikigami inn. 

The look in Hijikata’s eyes however, just before he and Kagura left; stayed with Gintoki for longer than he had thought possible. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He _knew_ what kind of a man Hijikata was, after all; it was not without reason they ended up fighting together every now and then. Still, it tugged at every one of his heartstrings to know that the mayora freak was so ready to fight for one of his brats.

In the end, he guessed he was the one owing Hijikata one.

 **. . .**

tbc.


	7. Just Because You’re In a Hospital, Doesn’t Mean That You Want Grapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we’re at the Baragaki arc. If something seems out of context it might be because it refers to canon material and in which case I must advise you to go reread/rewatch this loveliness ♥️ 
> 
> * indicates beginning and end of a flashback.

**. . .**

Recuperating in a hospital bed was about as inspiring as watching paint dry, Hijikata thought.

As expected, he was bored out of his freaking mind after only a couple of days in his sterile room at Greater Edo Hospital. Recently, he had been moved from the intensive care to a regular medical ward were he was to stay and heal. His wounds were being treated regularly, the bandages were changed every few hours or so by a petite nurse who for some unfathomable reason kept blushing while doing so, food -- _what’s with hospitals and their blatant disregard of food culture, ever heard of mayonnaise?!_ \-- was being brought in at mealtimes, taken away afterwards; and there was that. Hijikata had been left to his own devices which meant pretty much doing nothing but smoking and looking out the window, trying not to think of useless stuff -- totally ending up thinking of useless stuff. 

Like he was presently doing.

 _I’m not even that badly hurt_.

Granted, there was a gunshot wound in dire need of healing close to his shoulder, as well as one in his leg, and a few deeper cuts across his torso and arms; but what use was he to the Shinsengumi like this, trapped in bed for days on end? Hijikata would have happily plunged straight into work again, the restlessness was already crawling under his skin; he’d never been one for inactiveness. Came to this, there was just no reasoning with Kondou, though. Hijikata was _ordered_ to stay still, and his heated protests had only resulted in the vague agreement that he would be allowed to do some paperwork from his hospital bed. Maybe.

_Honestly, I’m not made for this._

Current circumstances demanded his attention, either way. Tetsunosuke joining the Shinsengumi had been the offset to a fateful clash between the two biggest police forces in Edo, but Hijikata was pretty sure he would have had to face Sasaki Isaburo sooner or later anyway -- with or without the involvement of the annoying brat. 

Tetsu was solely responsible for his involuntary trip down memory lane, however. Hijikata lit up a cigarette, sighing. He had been perfectly content _not_ poking about the gruesome shreds and pieces of his past in Bushu. The fire, his rage, the alienating fear in his siblings eyes -- he had since long buried along with the rambunctious ronin he had been back then. Hearing Tetsunosuke’s story, it was all coming back to life, old wounds ripped open without mercy, and Hijikata had felt obliged to take a stance. The brat, and his own deep-seated sense of right and wrong, he guessed, was the reason they ended up in confronting the Mimawarigumi, instead of backing down. In the end, he _could_ not really back off when something about the older Sasaki brother smelled so decidedly fishy.

 _Speaking of fishy._ Hijikata took a long drag on his cigarette, rubbing his forehead. _Yeah, you. Rotten perm head._ It was no use trying not to think about him. Up until recent events -- which had coincidentally landed him in a hospital bed -- Hijikata had not seen much of the Yorozuya. As if in unspoken agreement that they had perhaps taken things one step too far at that demon-infested inn; they had stayed away from each other since. At least, that was what Hijikata _assumed_ they were doing, seeing how Gintoki had not shown up once after that. Not in that unannounced, unabashed way of his, at any rate. Naturally, they had caught inevitable glimpses of each other as the weeks wore on, passed each other in the street at occasion, even; but no proper run-ins, no yelling, no kisses. A quick glance, a burn to the chest, and they had walked on. 

And so Hijikata had reversed to the time before they first kissed because it felt like the only thing he sort of knew how to do -- burying himself, along with all the shameful longing, in _work work work_ as though his life depended on it. The only positive thing about it all had been the very real increasing workload, which seemed to be there to aid him in his quest of forgetting. 

Then, that night on the rooftop was upon them, and for all Hijikata’s efforts, he was lost amidst the blood and the smoke, and the bruising beating of his heart. 

*

“Time to do things my way,” Gintoki said and flipped the cellphone closed, eyes focused on Hijikata as though they were the only ones on that roof.

_You’re here._

Hijikata had never thought that he would be happy to see the Yorozuya. Perhaps _happy_ was not the word, either, but after the initial shock had ebbed away, a warmth like he had not felt for weeks was spreading its wings within his chest, pouring sunlight into his veins. It was ridiculous, seeing how he was in this fucked-up predicament, all but bleeding out from the damage Sasaki had dealt him, and the silver-haired samurai _was_ supposed to be his enemy by all acceptable standards -- it didn't matter. 

Meeting Gintoki’s direct stare now, he was startled by how calming he found it. Nevermind they were surrounded by Mimawarigumi forces prepared to kill them all along with the pathetic band of Joui patriots huddling behind the Yorozuya -- in that moment Hijikata knew that everything would be alright. Gintoki’s frame; solid and imposing against the dark evening sky with his stupid getup fluttering in the wind, silver hair messier than ever with the addition of a bushy ponytail -- _really, there was no need for you to go to such lengths, you already look like a delinquent most of the time_ \-- was as reassuring as a cup of chamomile tea and a cigarette before bed.

“If you aren’t going to save these boys I’ll step in and save a few criminals in the process.” Gintoki told him, calmly. “Show me what you got, Vice-Chief. You’re first.” 

Hijikata felt like smiling, although he really was in no position to do so -- bleeding and hurting and sweating as he was. Still, he felt like he, for the first time, properly understood why people all over Edo came to rely on the objectionable idiot in front of him, so unconditionally. 

Gintoki had this tendency of showing up when it really mattered. 

“Let’s see if you can take down the Joui patriot known as the Shiroyasha.” 

He said it just like that; like there was not a myriad of issues connected to that statement. _How very typical of you._ And how very typical of himself, to have known all the while, at some deep-down level, just who Sakata Gintoki was -- refusing to address it until the bastard howled it at the skies.

Hijikata had to laugh. Throwing his head back, he laughed until his mouth went dry and his head light, and his gaze returned to Gintoki. Those red eyes didn’t hold as much challenge as they did softness, and he was smiling. Hijikata’s wounds had stopped hurting. 

“Sasaki. You chose the wrong person to use as a cog. You don’t stand a chance against the biggest thorn in the bush.” 

* 

“Vice-Chief?” 

Yamazaki was approaching his bedside with an uncertain smile, clutching a bag wrapped in ribbons and cellophane to his chest. Hijikata, jerked back to reality, was instantly annoyed.

“I hope for your own sake that isn’t anpan you’re carrying,” he remarked, stubbing out his cigarette. 

“Ahaha, it’s not,” Yamazaki stuttered nervously, placing the parcel on the bedside table in a haste, as though he had been longing to get rid off it. “It’s just some snacks and get well-gifts from the headquarters, everyone’s wishing for your speedy recovery, Vice-Chief.”

Hijikata gave the bag a look of thinly veiled disinterest, before turning back to scowl at his underling.

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy. Now can we cut to the chase? What _I_ wish for is to get out of here.”

“Uhm, the Commander was pretty clear on the point you should stay in bed --“

“When am I to be discharged?” Hijikata interjected impatiently.

“Eh, I’m sure it won’t be long. A couple of days -- a week, tops,” Yamazaki added hurriedly as he noticed the resentful glint in Hijikata’s eyes. “I’ve been tasked to keep you posted about work, and I brought paperwork, too -- on your request.”

“There’s no need to act like goddamn Santa because of that,” Hijikata huffed, gaze drifting back towards the window. “Did they let the Yorozuya go?”

“You’re talking about the Yorozuya’s Danna, S--sir?”

“Yes, of bloody course -- who else would I be talking about?!”

“I--I’m sorry, sir! Yes, I believe so.”

“You believe so or you know so?” Hijikata asked this without looking at Yamazaki.

“I believe…” there was something in Yamazaki’s voice which raised Hijikata's suspicion. “I believe they let him go on the condition that he would help Tetsu deliver a letter, Vice-Chief.”

Hijikata turned his head back to look at Yamazaki, too sharply.

“What kind of letter?”

“I-- “ Yamazaki was looking down his feet, shuffling them about. “I believe it was addressed to your brother, Vice-Chief.”

_So he knows about that._

Hijikata heaved a sigh, running a tired hand through his hair.

_Just great._

“I guess the notion of minding one’s own goddamn business is no longer considered common sense,” he muttered, mostly to himself, and Yamasaki jumped; then relaxed slightly once he saw his superior looking out the window again.

“Uhm, is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“That’d be all,” Hijikata gave a vague wave of his hand, eyes focused on the tree on the other side of the glass, unseeing; he saw the sky darkening and the clouds gathering, but registered none of it. Yamazaki was leaving in a disgraceful hurry, but he hardly noticed. The wheels of his mind was busy spinning around the facts at hand. 

He didn't know how to feel about Gintoki knowing about Tamegoro. It probably meant the Yorozuya was now familiar with other aspects of his past as well; aspects Hijikata himself shut down for the most part. There was this sting of petulant anger attached to that realisation; somehow, it didn’t seem fair -- Hijikata did after all, know little to nothing about the sugar-addicted moron. Apart from him being the Shiroyasha -- most of his past before moving in to the flat above the snack shop was shrouded in mystery. If anything, Gintoki was getting more complex, more _impossible_ to make sense of, the more Hijikata saw of him.

_Do I really need to know anything else? He used to be a criminal, as I have always suspected, and he stays rotten to the core to this day. That should be plenty enough. Why would I bother with the circumstances of his past?_

Hijikata rubbed his temples, impatient beyond words with himself. 

This thing with Gintoki was consuming him, and he knew it. He also knew that he could not afford letting himself be swept away -- he had a job, a duty to fulfill, protecting Edo had never been more important. Rationally speaking, that was it. In reality, Hijikata felt beyond weary with all of that. No matter how sharp and hardened he was, after years of battle and pain; the Yorozuya had managed multiple cracks to his resolve, without even knowing it. And it scared Hijikata, because it meant Gintoki had the power to _shatter_ him. It was not worth it, really, not again -- just because that lecherous good-for-nothing wanted to play.

 _That’s it, right?_

Hijikata was sure that the Yorozuya, for all his pretty words and heavy implications, was in it for the excitement. Gintoki had noticed him because that underlying attraction between them had finally gone batshit, Hijikata had been stupid enough to go along with it -- the rest was inglorious history. It was a game for thrills, and as long as Hijikata was challenging him; Gintoki would play, turned on by the impossibility of it all. Then again, who was Hijikata to complain? Was he not doing it for exactly the same reasons? 

_Not entirely,_ a small voice in the back of his head piped up.

Hijikata came to rest his elbows on the tray in front of him on the bed, feeling lightheaded, near nauseous, all of a sudden. Absently running his hands through his hair, he tried to keep his breathing calm and level. His cigarette had burned out, a thin trail of smoke rising from the ashtray. 

Awful as it was to admit; there were other things about Gintoki, too, apart from the physical attraction -- drawing him in. Thinking about it held a fragile, almost precious quality -- because he almost never allowed himself to do so. He hated the rush of blood through his veins, loved the tightness in his chest, hated it, loved it; and he gave himself the momentary leave to fall. 

In the back of a police car going way too fast -- Gintoki in a Shinsengumi uniform, grabbing his collar, calling his name and chasing Tosshi right back to hell by sheer, overwhelming _anger._

Flashes in the corner of his eye -- Gintoki wielding that wooden sword, fighting with an enthralling intensity and skill worthy someone unearthly; on a level far above any ordinary samurai. 

Burned into his inner eye -- Gintoki, cupping his face and kissing every part of it with startling care, with lips softly asking for permission.

 _Curse you._

Hijikata found his own fingers tracing his cheeks, unconsciously chasing the feeling of lips against skin. His face went hot. In the end, it confused the hell out of him, how Gintoki altered indifference with glimpses of genuinity. It comforted him at times, but mostly it just _hurt,_ because he had no idea what to make of it. 

And still.

_Why aren’t you here?_

He wished for Yamazaki to have told him the idiot was still being kept in jail. Knowing that he was out, free to go about his own business, and still not deemed it necessary to come pester him about one thing or another; was just maddening. Hijikata fell back against the pillows, hating himself for caring.

“Idiot,” he murmured to the dark room.

“Talking about yourself, Hijikata-san?”

Hijikata winced at the sight of the First Squad Captain. The person he least wished to see in the world at the moment was resting his back against the doorframe, light spilling in from the corridor to give his silhouette an eerie gleam; earphones plugged in and a pink chewing gum bubble growing steadily larger at his mouth.

 _Seriously. Why_.

“Damnit, Sougo -- don’t just show up like that!”

“Hnn, why? Is there any other way to show up? I can’t help it if you wish I was someone else.”

“That’s not it! A normal person knocks, don’t they?!” Hijikata gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar throbs of a headache advancing. At least, there was something reassuring about the fact that certain pains of his ordinary life would never change or go away; Sougo being one of them.

The sandy-haired officer gave him a long, impassive stare.

“For your own dignity’s sake, I won’t ask about the reasons for that request, Hijikata-san.” _Pop_ ; his bubble popped. “What dirty stuff you do in private is none of my business, after all.”

“Don’t make disgusting assumptions on your own!” Hijikata spat, feeling his cheeks redden in spite of his obvious innocence. _And damn right it’s none of your business!_ He longed to get out of bed so that he could get his hands around the neck of the little terror and _squeeze;_ but forced himself to stay still. “Why’re you here, anyway? Don’t try to make me believe you came to see me.”

“No specific reason,” Sougo offered, slyly.

“No specific reason, my ass -- you’re full of shit. Spill it!”

“Or what?”

“Or, I’ll arrange for your peaceful crossing of the River Styx -- knock it off already!” Hijikata snapped, too tired to care about the look of ominous enlightenment crossing Sougo’s face.

“Well, since we’ve already established I’m not here to _see_ you, Hijikata-san -- how about I came to kill you?” he said, an evil smirk curving his lips. “That’s easier to believe right? You can imagine my disappointment upon discovering that someone else was already on it.” 

“Huh?” Hijikata could feel a nerve in his eyelid twitch. “What bullshit are you spouting?”

“None,” Sougo deadpanned. “In fact, I was called out here because of some ruckus going on in the emergency ward, and it was thought -- since it’s general knowledge you’re hospitalised here -- that it might’ve been connected to a group of particularly vicious Joui terrorists wanting some good old revenge. Don’t be shocked; but you aren’t exactly popular in such circles, Hijikata-san.”

“Yeah, yeah, what else is new. Neither are you, for that matter,” Hijikata grumbled, but he was listening, now. _For Sougo to be here, there must have been some ruckus._ Lightening up a new cigarette, he gave Sougo a thoughtful look. “What about it then, has it been dealt with?” 

“Yup. Unfortunately.” Sougo blew another pink bubble, managing to look sinister as hell while doing so, which in itself was not a small feat. “I didn’t have to do much, though. It had already been taken care of.”

“Right,” Hijikata sunk back onto the bed with his cigarette, scowling. He smelled a rat, but it was not until he saw Sougo turning to leave it struck him. “Wait, what? When you say it had been taken care of -- by who, exactly?”

Sougo cast him a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, I thought you got that.” His face was smooth and innocent. “By Danna, of course.”

~

Loitering around hospital corridors during night was about as much fun as watching grass grow, Gintoki noted sleepily to himself. 

He was learning this the hard way as he kept returning to Greater Edo Hospital, evening after evening. Mostly, it consisted of sauntering up and down white-painted, chemical smelling corridors, making regular stops at the vending machine -- he had probably drunk a year’s supply worth of strawberry milk these past three nights -- and nodding off on plastic benches in varying states of uncomfortable. 

Like he was presently doing. 

His back hurt from the awkward angle he was made to rest against the hard wall, and his eyes kept falling shut from the effort of staying awake for too long.

_Jeez, I seriously don’t have the makings of this! Who do they think I am -- Gaara?!_

The first night he’d been told off by the nurses for arriving outside of visitor hours. Gintoki had feigned bashfulness; making good use of his black belt in BS by selling them a heart wrenching, makeshift story, featuring the love of his life being in a coma at just this very hospital -- _“who knows if Haruka-chan will ever wake up, bless her soul”_ \-- him being part of a rivalling clan and her parents wanting him dead. The nurses bought it hook, line and sinker, sobbing into their hands and shaking their heads in solemn understanding. Since then, he was welcome around the clock, and they also assured his discretion. 

As it happened, Gintoki felt pathetic enough to need discretion. It was not like he didn’t know _why_ he kept coming back. He was well aware the way he behaved, sneaking around and making ingenious conversation with the nurses under the pretense of flirting -- _“I heard you’ve got some big shot patient in the medical ward, I sincerely hope you don’t go looking at him as you look at me, Aoki-chaan? Well, he’s probably too badly wounded to make any proper moves, no? You didn’t touch him, right?”_ \-- put Sacchan, and even the Gorilla; to shame. 

_Someone call the producers and tell them never to air this. Seriously._

It had been three days already, and although he’d had the same intention to go see the stupid mayonnaise addict since day one -- he had still not crossed the threshold to his room. It was not that he was scared, or nervous, about seeing Hijikata. Not per se. Gintoki ran his hands over his face, and tipped his head back against the wall. _Give me a break._ If he was forced to put it into words it was rather about distrusting himself to behave. Probably. Going over recent events in his head, his mind just came to a stumbling stop at the same, maddening conclusion each and every time -- he simply didn’t know how to face the Vice-Chief.

Fate had brought them together once more; Gintoki didn’t even care to wave it off as coincidence any longer. Him being caught up in the Elite Cops vs Hooligan Cops spat was just one of those things happening because it had to. Like there was no way things could have gone on without him and the chainsmoker crossing roads sooner or later -- it was a wound destined to be ripped open. 

Having stayed out of Hijikata’s way for weeks for no good reason -- not one he could explain, at least -- he had almost felt fine about it. When he set his mind to it, things had this close to disturbing way of falling into normality, like there had been no bumps at all along the road, and he could rest in the comfortable lie that Hijikata’s conspicuous absence in his life was not bothering him. As though there was not this windy kind of gap in the centre of his chest which drained him off any _real_ heat; life went on.

_I was OK, right?_

Until Sasaki hired him for his shady purposes -- and the implication that Hijikata was deeply immersed in it just weighed heavier than the compensation offered. Gintoki couldn’t deny it. A whisper of the mayora freak’s involvement and his nerves were all laid out bare. It was as though he was going through goddamn withdrawal and the sheer name of the drug he was hooked on had his adrenalin levels going through the roof. 

Then, there was also the matter of the letter. Gintoki sighed into his hands, feeling shitty and useless for _knowing_ \-- about the harrowing path of the fierce-eyed ronin in Bushu; gathering in pools of red in the footsteps of the man who became the demonic Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi. He had been perfectly fine unaware of the origins of that suffering. 

Contrary to popular belief, Gintoki was not idiotic on all levels -- he recognised that part of Hijikata as easily as he did his own. It was just that, it had been easier to ignore as long as the details were shrouded in smoke and thorns. Now, he could see an eleven-year old _Toushirou_ in a ring of fire, clutching a blood-stained knife in trembling hands, dirt smudged across his little face; with the mad eyes of a demon far too old for his years -- as clearly as though it was his own memory. 

He hated the fact that he had no choice but to add it to the few recollections he had of Hijikata looking unguarded and beat; he had unconsciously been hoping that that one instance by Okita Mitsuba’s deathbed would be the last. Somehow the letter, and the incidents on the rooftop -- had brought clarity in some matters that Gintoki had, in all honesty, been wrestling with since he first met Hijikata. 

Like, how he could not stand it when someone, apart from himself, was hurting the bastard.

*

Surrounded by the low-lifes calling themselves the Check It Out Gang, looking down on the showdown between Sasaki Isaburo and Hijikata Toushirou; Gintoki cursed the shitty role of being the protagonist.

It was not about leaving someone behind, it was a matter of _believing_ in them -- exclamation marks, dramatic music, sentimental close-ups and so on -- any JUMP hero worthy the title knew this. None of them would be able to escape this particular trope, it was an inevitable part of their strenuous character development; forced to look on while their friends got smashed about while uttering useless lines referring to trust and loyalty.

 _Such god-cursed rubbish._

As Sasaki’s sword fell down on Hijikata, _slashing,_ Gintoki felt it like the wound was opening along his own arm. A bullet pierced the mayora’s shoulder, _ripping,_ and the pain exploded inside Gintoki’s chest; and it took everything he had not to leap from that wretched roof and _kill them all._ To be perfectly honest, the only thing preventing him from doing so was the crystal clear voice of reason in the back of his head telling him that; that was not the way to save Hijikata’s life. To do that, he had to endure a bit longer, to stay still and hope for the hopeless bastard to survive until then.

_In the end, this is how I help you, right?_

“You look nothing like a cop right now,” Sasaki told the Shinsengumi Vice Chief, and Gintoki was inclined to agree.

Hijikata, out of the uniform jacket and in nothing but his tattered shirt and vest; was a bloody shadow of himself, not a shred of sanity left in his eyes as he charged at the bespectacled man in the white uniform. Or, he was becoming the essence of himself, might be a more correct way of describing him; ridding himself of the image and title of the Vice-Chief, he was becoming nothing but the demon. 

_I know the kind of fire you’re born from._

Gintoki was transfixed by the image of the policeman; his own heart thrumming the song of battle, ready to strike; breath dragging shudders through his body -- and Hijikata _moved_ , fluid and dangerous, eyes gleaming deep blue sea and undying rancor, and his sword cut that bullet in two. _You beautiful son of a bitch._ Somehow, the strain left Gintoki’s shoulders then, and he was filled with the sudden assuasive knowledge that Hijikata would not go down like that. 

Their meeting on that rooftop felt almost eerie; destined to happen and kind of natural in the great scheme of things. 

“No, you and I are the same,” Hijikata said, looking straight at him. “It won’t make a difference if we kill another kid or two -- it’s too late for that now.”

It was as though the commotion around them was part of another world, the smoke and the screams and the heavy tension all drowned out and rendered _insignificant_ by Hijikata’s mouth, forming words only meant for him. 

“We brats have to stick together.”

*

“Napo?”

Gintoki blinked. The too-bright strip lightning stung at his eyes for a moment, before his mind redirected him back to the hospital corridor; where he was met with the sight of a familiar little face, smooth and round-cheeked and unusually nonchalant for a toddler.

“Ehhh?” Gintoki blinked again, dragging himself into a more upright position, looking down at the baby sitting on the floor in front of him in drowsy disbelief. “I’m still sleeping, right?”

He pinched his arm. The baby did not go away. He looked up and down the deserted corridor. No other adult in sight. He pinched his arm again, harder. 

“Napo,” said the baby again, still fixing him with his impassive, half-lidded eyes, raising his arms towards Gintoki.

“Oi, I’m not your dad, I think we established that ages ago,” Gintoki huffed, holding up his hands in front of him. “I’d be a shitty dad anyway, Ka-- Kan.. what was it again? Dammit. See? I can’t even remember your name.”

“NA-PO,” the baby repeated, a little impatient now; a slight whine to its tone as it reached for Gintoki’s leg. 

“Oi, oi! What do you think you’re doing?” Gintoki muttered, but he lifted the little runt up into his lap anyways. “Oh, well. How about Silver J. Fox?” He had a vague recollection of that being what Kagura had called him. The baby made a content cooing sound, waving his chubby arms about. “You like that? Well, that’s settled then.” 

“Oh-oh!”

“I see you haven’t developed much in terms of speech. I suspect you don’t even walk properly yet, hnn?” Gintoki held up the baby up in front of him, studying his familiar features. “I’m sorry to inform you but such is the fate of us anime characters. We don’t age much. In case there’s not a time-skip arc or something like that, but then it’s all blown out of proportion, and you suddenly need to get a sexy new attire and a levelled up personality that’s all dark and insightful; it’s a real nuisance, I’m telling you.” 

Silver J. Fox offered him a blank look. 

“Where’s your mother, anyways?” Gintoki stretched his back and glanced about the corridor again. “What kind of a woman leaves her child to crawl around a hospital at night?”

“Ma-ma.”

“Yes, Mama. You can say that much, huh? Then where is she?” Silver J. Fox tipped his head back a little, shaking it so that his silver curls bounced about, looking not in the least bit worried. Gintoki heaved another sigh. “Guess there’s no helping it, then.” He hoisted the baby up on his arm. “Gin-san has to go find your mother so that he can get you off his hands. Again. You’re a pest, you know that right?”

“Naaa-Pooo!” The baby laughed and clapped his hands.

“Yeah, yeah -- there’s no need to look so happy about it,” Gintoki told him as they set off down the corridor, toward the adjacent ward, Silver J. Fox a comfortable weight against the side of his body, completely relaxed. “You’d do well to remember, I’m only helping you cause you’ve got some nice-looking hair. It’s naturally wavy, right? Let me tell you a thing or two about the maintenance of such --”

“Hey! Who’s that?! Didn’t they say this department would be closed down at night?”

Rounding a corner, Gintoki came face to face with a group of darkly dressed, suspicious-looking samurai, one of them tall and bald -- the one who had spoken -- was also directing his katana at him. 

“Hell if I know!” Another one screeched, upon hurriedly adding a belated: “Leader-san!”

“There wasn’t supposed to be any guards in this department,” a third one cut in.

“That’s no guard, idiot. That’s just some strange dude. Look, he’s got a stupid-looking baby with him, even,” said the second, and the third one snickered.

“Eheheh, now when you mention it -- they do look just the same. Dumb and dumber!”

There was a cackle of derisive laughter rising among the band of samurai, before the bald one, who the others apparently thought of as something of a leader, spoke up again, waving his sword about in way that Gintoki figured was supposed to be menacing.

“Whatever. We never got any orders to kill less than one person,” he smirked. “As I remember it, it was rather along the lines of -- ‘do whatever it takes to finish the demon’. That said boys; let’s just kill him.”

Gintoki picked at his nose. He would have been bored had they not mentioned the words ‘guards’, and ‘demon’. Somehow, he had the distinct feeling they were sneaking about the one room only _he_ had the right to enter uninvited. 

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” he droned, flicking a booger in their general direction. “I guess it’s unnecessary for me to point out how absolutely idiotic it is to attempt assassination with your numbers.”

“Who said anything about assassination?!”

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who let it slip, Leader…”

“SHUT UP!!”

Gintoki shook his head, slowly.

“Oh, boy. You sure are lucky to have run into me.”

“What do you mean, lucky?” The bald one inquired doubtfully.

“What, you really didn’t know?” Gintoki tapped a finger to his chin, giving them a wise look. “I’m pretty famous around here. I never failed a job; I thought your bunch would’ve heard of me, at the very least, seeing how you’re obviously in this filthy line of work. It seriously seems like you could use my help here, Baldy.”

“Who’re you calling Baldy?! And what do you mean you could help -- who are you?!” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Gintoki deadpanned. “The call me ‘the Assassinating Father of One.’”

“Oh-oh.” emphasized Silver J. Fox soberly.

“I never heard of someone like that,” the leader muttered suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure we don’t need your help to assassinate one single cop --”

“Leader!! You shouldn’t tell him about -- !!”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Gintoki waved his hand about vaguely. In his periphery, he saw a familiar brown-haired woman hiding behind a door, watching the scene anxiously. “Now the cat’s out of the bag, I feel like I can walk on without regrets.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean, walk on -- to where!?”

“To the vending machine. You losers are blocking my way,” Gintoki told them, whipping out his bokuto with a sense of relief. His rage had taken on a red edge. “I need some strawberry milk.”

The group of shady-looking samurais were all scrambling backwards at the sight of him; be it the weapon or the look in his eyes; it mattered little to nothing to Gintoki at this point. 

“Why’re you hesitating?!” shouted Baldy, enraged but trembling all the same. “He can’t fight! He’s got a child with him!”

Gintoki smirked, widely.

_You should know the drill by now, Foxy._

And he tossed the toddler backwards, into his mother’s arms -- simultaneously charging forward. He caught a glimpse of Ofusa’s startled face just before he slashed through the first body.

. . .

tbc.

  
  



	8. Something Sappy About Thorns and Roses

Hijikata surveyed the scene of the “ruckus” Sougo had been describing, arms crossed and a crease wearing deeper into his brow as the seconds ticked by. Although he was a seasoned member of the police by now, all but jaded towards the cruelty and the harsh reality of the Edo underworld, and not unfamiliar with blood and gore; there was still a surreal kind of haze settling over this scene. Over this blood. 

It was everywhere; dark red pooling on the floor, staining the white walls, splashed across the roof even. A dozen or so bodies lay lifeless as they had fallen along the hospital corridor, sprawled on the floor or slumped against the walls. Hijikata didn’t want to ask if they were dead or merely knocked out -- was there really any point in checking? 

_All this blood, instead of mine._

Closing his eyes, he had no trouble imagining a certain silver-haired demon cutting his way through these bodies, with an ease and rage which caused normal people to back away in fear. It had Hijikata going weak in the knees for an altogether different reason. There was no denying the chill to his spine; the uneasy sensation of a thrill he shouldn’t be feeling amassing energy at the base of his back. 

_He came._

For a beat, the Vice-Chief didn’t know if he felt cold, or intolerably hot, and he had to look away; suddenly grateful to be out of his patient gown. He would have felt strange wearing it now, at a place like this, surrounded by subordinates uneasily shuffling about and the coppery smell of death. Lately he had been allowed to dress in a plain light green yukata and trousers he could move about in without feeling too uncomfortable, his right arm; the one which had taken the bullet, neatly bandaged and put in a sling.

It was still a nuisance, though.

Shaking out a cigarette from his packet one-handed, Hijikata held it between his lips while he fished the lighter out. One of the First Squad officers, who had been busy documenting everything occurring since their arrival, took a couple of ginger steps in his direction, as though he wondered if he needed any help; causing Hijikata to shake his head irritatedly.

“I’m not completely useless yet,” he said dismissively, and the officer came to a halt, hand falling lamely to his side. “I’d like to know the whereabouts of the idiot responsible for this mess, you could help me with that.” 

The officer looked nonplussed and Hijikata took a long drag on his cigarette, trying to keep his voice down.

“The _Yorozuya,_ for god’s sake.”

“Oh. Well, uhm… He didn’t say where he was going, sir.” The officer informed him, tentatively. “He just said he needed something sweet, and then he was gone.”

Hijikata could feel a vein throb faintly at his temple.

“Did he, now? And before he -- _goddamnit_ \-- left to get something sweet -- did he perhaps make a statement? Anything to aid us, _the police_ , in doing their job?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We were under the impression that he was working for you, sir.”

Hijikata startled; _why_ \-- covered it up by scoffing and lowering his voice to a menacing hiss.

“Really now, and why would that be, pray tell, that you had gotten that kind of impression?”

“Uhm, he said he’d send us an invoice for his services, so we kind of assumed --”

“He did _what_?” 

“His, uhm... he said -- his bodyguard services? He said we owe him for three nights already, sir.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Hijikata snapped, biting off his cigarette in exasperation. “Since when did I need a fucking bodyguard?! I don’t even --“ he paused, fists curling. “You know what. I’ll deal with the Yorozuya myself. I’ll leave the cleaning up to your squad -- please don’t make me remind you not to go blabbing about this incident to outsiders.” 

The officer opened his mouth meekly, but Hijikata would never know if the man had the courage to object; as he had already turned, and was stalking off down the hospital aisles, limping just a little, muttering profanities under his breath. _Three nights already._ Did that mean the rotten bastard had been around the entire time? Hijikata’s chest felt weirdly tight around that small admission. He didn’t know whether to be happy or angry about it, just that it set his heart off again, a restless sort of disquietude taking hold of his limbs; forcing him to move.

_I’m gonna find him and kill him. I’ll kill him, then I’ll ask him what the hell he’s up to, there better be an explanation or --_

What? 

Hijikata sort of knew he had no plan. He also knew that he should have one, given his history with Gintoki, no good would come out of searching him out; but he was also aware that rationality was not very much part of his being at the moment. It was instinct which steered him towards the cafeteria, knowing that was where he would find the irredeemable sweet-tooth, and instinct was what caused his blood to boil and heart to pound and fuck reasoning, really.

_I’ll just kill him, period._

Entering the cafeteria, he took brief notice of it being empty, closed of course; it was in the middle of the night -- but for the silver-haired man seated by a table at the back. The Yorozuya had his back turned to him, looking unforgivably laid-back with his nose in a magazine and a packet of milk in his other hand. Something about his broad shoulders breathed relaxation, dauntlessness, and reliability. _Wait, what?_ Having no patience left to reflect on such a realisation, Hijikata strode towards the deuced idiot with the intention of punching him in the face because of, well, everything _._

That was when he spotted the second little head of silver locks.

Hijikata stopped dead in his tracks. His mind was at a standstill, too, casting about for any sort of logic to apply to the scene he was being exposed to. _You’ve gotta be kidding me._ The baby was in a red high chair next to the Yorozuya, small hands wrapped around a bottle of milk, which he lifted and sipped on upon noticing his larger mirror image doing the same. The round face looked complacent without being happy, just at its ease, perhaps a little bored -- all around remarkably similar to the man next to him.

Hijikata’s heart dropped. For all his precautions, for all his telling himself this kind of thing would happen sooner or later -- the pain still caught him unawares; a cutting sensation to his chest, sharp and chilly and tearing. His breath just died down for the tiniest of moments. In the next, he acted on the bodily reaction to take cover; sensing that the Yorozuya was about to turn around, he hastily ducked down, slipping into a booth to his right. Heart hammering away painfully, the ache gathering high in his throat, he leaned back against the cushioned seats.

_What the hell was I thinking?!_

He regretted everything, all his stupid actions leading him into this situation, forced to consider the possibility of Gintoki being involved with someone _like that_. He couldn’t deny it, nor work his head around it, and it was strange, really, why was he even surprised? He was not born yesterday; he knew of the Yorozuya’s decadent lifestyle, _knew_ that he’d probably slept with more women than cigarettes he smoked in a week -- if anything, it’d be strange if he _didn’t_ have an illegitimate child or two. 

And yet, the idea just felt alien and wrong to Hijikata. He wanted nothing but to get out of the cafeteria at this point, but he also knew he was probably doomed to stay where he was lest he would risk getting seen by the idiot, which at this point felt worse. If he turned his head to the side, he could see the back of Gintoki’s head between the seats, as well as the baby’s profile. _Damn, that little shit sure looks arrogant for a baby._ Hijikata tensed up as he heard the Yorozuya speak, then realised it was not directed at him, and he fell back against the seat again, listening without really wanting to. 

“Really, what kind of a hospital is this? There’s no JUMP, even” Gintoki complained, heaving a dramatic sigh, and there was a sound like pages fluttering, then something hitting the floor. “Seriously. Do they want people to croak out of sheer old boredom?” 

_Well, it’s not a fucking playhouse, either._

Hijikata grumbled inwardly where he sat.

“Uh-uh,” said the baby. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve always been saying. All boys need their high-action, cyborgs and bromance! Not to mention special attacks and long-ass monologues explaining non-logical phenomena such as special attacks, goddamnit.”

_Oi, don’t tar everyone with the same brush. Besides, who’s the boy here?_

“I don’t expect you to understand this quite yet,” Gintoki continued, wisely. “I mean, what do you even do all day? Eat, sleep, poop, poking holes in the shoji --“

_You’re talking about yourself, right?_

“Uuhhhn!”

“No? Really, all kids do, nothing to be ashamed about.” 

Peeking in between the seats, Hijikata saw Gintoki turning to the baby with an expression of mild amusement, upon wiping some droplets of milk off his face. This had the baby going red and grunting in disapproval, but he still looked avidly at the Yorozuya.

_Why’re you looking at him like that? He’s acting like an old geezer, lecturing you for no good reason!_

“I should get out of here. Buy me a proper magazine for starters.”

The baby made a sound like he was doubting this. 

“You’ve got a point, I know that,” Gintoki sighed. “It’s not like someone’s stopping me -- if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Uuuuuh.”

“Smartass. Well, if you must know, I guess I was trying to look after someone.” 

Detecting the slight change of tone, and a grudging kind of fondness to Gintoki’s voice, Hijikata almost forgot to breathe.

“Napo?”

“It’s not someone you know. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure that I know him.” 

There was a grain of weariness in his tone, now. 

“Hoooh?”

“Why, you say? Beats me.” A pause. “There’s something about him. It’s just that.”

A deep sigh, a cooing sound from the baby; barely making itself heard over the pounding of Hijikata’s heart.

“I can’t stay away. I just can’t. Does it really need to be any more complicated than that? Jeez. It’s not like I’m an expert at this kind of thing.”

Another sigh, the baby made a small grunt, then came a sound like he was banging the milk bottle against the tabletop.

“Oi, don’t look at me like that! It’s not all that easy, you know. If you think you’re gonna have your shit sorted just because you’re an adult you’re sorely mistaken. Adulthood is nothing like the blissful state of eating and pooping you’re currently enjoying, believe me.”

“Pooop~” repeated the baby happily.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

A woman’s soft voice came closer with the sound of light, hasty steps.

“Sorry to have inconvenienced you! I didn’t think it would take so long to fill out all those forms! I’m really so grateful you could watch him for me,” she paused, “-- again. Had I known we’d be here all night just because of a stupid rash I’d never have come so late; knowing my Kanshichirou is something of an escape artist, too,” she was sighing, a little exasperated; mildly apologetic. “Honestly, we were really so lucky to run into you, Sakata-san.” Polite. _Not_ on a first-name basis. 

The hard knot in Hijikata’s chest was disintegrating, slowly.

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to babysit him in the first place,” Gintoki was grumbling but his words lacked any real edge. Even without looking, Hijikata could tell that Gintoki didn't mind the baby one bit. The woman knew this too, apparently, and Hijikata couldn’t help but to turn and take another peek at the sound of her laugh. He was startled at her beauty, and perhaps it stung just a little; watching them all together -- but he could not look away just yet. 

“I know, I know. Yet it’s been you watching over him every time he’s in danger, right? I’d say you’re his guardian angel, Sakata-san,” She was smiling at Gintoki while reaching down to pick her son up. “Come here, Kanshichirou.”

The baby settled in her arms, still holding on to the bottle, making a gurgling sound.

“He’s looking more like my Kantarou for each day passing by,” the woman watched her child with affection. “I’d like to think he’ll be able to remember his father, one day.”

Gintoki shrugged, and Hijikata caught a brief glimpse of his face in profile; as he regarded the mother and child, he wore one of his serious, almost sad, faces. 

“As long as you remember him, I'm sure that little pest will, too.” 

As Gintoki was getting to his feet, Hijikata noticed he looked unscathed but for the white yukata, which was generously flecked with gruesome red, and wondered at the woman’s calm demeanor. Obviously, it was not the first time she’d seen Gintoki like this. _Ever the reluctant hero._ It was like the baby sensed the Yorozuya’s impending departure, as he suddenly screwed his face up and wailed quite miserably.

“There there, Kanshichirou,” the woman hushed, cuddling the baby closer to her chest. “It’s so rare for him to cry, I had almost forgotten,” she smiled weakly at Gintoki, who was yawning, back to his habitual state of easy indolence.

“It’s like Zura said,” he reached out to ruffle the baby’s silver hair; an act which temporarily soothed the crying, turning it into muffled sobs and hiccups instead. “It’s part of a baby’s job description to cry, you hear that? You’re allowed to cry for all of us. Cry, laugh, grow old -- meet me for a drink someday and tell me all about it.”

As the silver-haired samurai turned to leave, the baby’s crying grew loud again, and so utterly despondent, Hijikata felt it like it was him being abandoned, and he turned away from the scene. The last thing he saw was the woman, still smiling somewhat sadly, trying to calm her inconsolable child.

. . .

If something leaden had been creeping up on Gintoki lately; seeping slowly into his bones and settling heavily across his shoulders to keep him chained to his doubts; he could positively feel it _running off_ of him as he strode towards Hijikata’s patient room. Having made up his mind, there was a lightness to his steps, a stupid swelling in his chest and hell, what had he even been doing all this time? _Wasting it!_ It was so not like him to shillyshally; he knew this, and the reason he had felt so trapped in his own body of late was because of that stifling hesitation, too -- he hated it in fucking no man’s land.

Gintoki was in his right element once given a clear purpose -- _well, clear as could be, don’t overestimate me_ \-- and right now his focus was fixed on one thing only. _Hijikata_. The thought of the police officer, once he allowed himself to picture it; those dark blue eyes brimming with anger, or desire -- _gods, Gin-san’s at his limit, here_ \-- was sweeping over him with all its earth-shattering intensity, and why, Gintoki felt like he might actually drop dead if he could not kiss the shitty cop about _right now._

_I won’t leave without at least that much, that stingy bastard better be prepared!_

Upon barging into the room bearing the sign ‘423, Hijikata Toushirou, Shinsengumi Vice Chief’, he was already somewhat short of breath, and his ears felt hot. Needless to say; finding it empty and dark was like taking a sucker-punch to the face. _Someone’s gotta be taking the piss._ It was not at all what he’d been expecting. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Gintoki glanced around the dark room. Sparsely equipped and sterile as it was, it still smelled faintly of tobacco, of Hijikata. He inhaled the smell, was immediately presented with another imaginary picture of said chainsmoker’s frowning face, and almost laughed.

_Sure sucks to be an addict._

He spotted the bed, had the fleeting urge to move over there, gather up the sheets and bury his face in them and -- _what the actual fuck_. Despite being absolutely mortified at the thought, knowing full well that he was once again sinfully close to doing something worthy of Sacchan; he took a couple of slow steps into the room _._ Yes, Gintoki knew he should probably get out, but there was something locking him in place, the familiar smell growing stronger by the second, and a sense of someone approaching --

He did not turn around at the sound of the door falling shut behind him. He did not turn to face the invading smell of smoke and fire. He did not turn to meet that heavy silence; he did not want to. Standing motionless, he much rather breathed in the other man’s presence, loving the way it had the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end -- for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

_Come closer._

A soft rustle of fabric, steady footfalls against the floor; a breath coming out slowly, forced control applied to every movement. A raw scent in the air, coming off the police officer, or perhaps the two of them -- something tender and hot-edged encapsulating their bodies. It was prickling Gintoki’s skin, a tremble running along his spine in response to the tension behind his back, just shy of contact, he still felt it along every part of his body; it was not near enough.

 _Please, come closer._

He could feel the other man’s breath at this point, a warmth spreading over his neck; followed by the sound of movement, an arm reaching up, perhaps, and he wanted Hijikata to dare, so badly -- _yes_. Just above his collar, under his hair, Gintoki felt his hand, cool against the skin at the nape of his neck for a moment before coming to rest at the side of his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his pulse point there.

It was not that Gintoki had a death wish. _Not really._ He was well aware he was putting himself in mortal danger by tilting his head to the side, exposing his throat to a man who was in most aspects as dangerous as himself, and who in all likelihood held something of a grudge, too -- but some things were just too bloody good to miss out on. He knew Hijikata could feel his racing pulse as clearly as he did, and also that it didn't slow down one bit at this little display of capitulation, but he found he didn't care.

He heard Hijikata’s sharp intake of air, felt his fingers pressing down harder, tracing the pulsation, then sliding along the veins in his neck slowly; half a caress, half a threat -- Gintoki didn’t know which he wished for it to be. Light of head, he reached up and closed his own fingers over that hand, squeezing it hard for a moment before turning, and finally facing Hijikata. 

A glimpse of sharp eyes gleaming in the darkness, watching him from under raven bangs, with all the wary intensity of a starved beast -- it was all Gintoki had the time to register. Words were redundant. There was no telling who moved first; they were at it within the span of a heartbeat, knees knocking together awkwardly in their hurry to get as close to one another as possible. Gintoki grabbed Hijikata´s face with both hands, covering his mouth with his, _finally;_ kissing him, hard and proper. 

_This, this, this._

Hijikata tasted lovely and familiar by now. Gintoki loved the frank way in which he kissed him back, wordlessly welcoming him by opening his mouth to his probing tongue and grabbing his neck, again, intentions much less enigmatic. Strong fingers pulled him in closer still; as though nothing they did could ever be enough. Gintoki felt like his heart had left its station; as though it was beating everywhere, with every part of his body, beneath every little patch of his skin. In fact, he felt positively breathless with this nameless need to control and _own_ Hijikata’s unpredictable flames.

 _Shit._

He had to fight back the urge to wrestle the other man down and get on top of him already; forcing himself to consider those still-healing injuries, all-too evident in the way Hijikata groaned and squirmed against him; partly in pain, Gintoki was sure. The cop’s right arm was in a sling, dammit; and he knew without seeing that there was more than one area of his body bandaged and sore -- he had seen him taken all that damage, after all.

Somehow, that thought had Gintoki kissing Hijikata with a new sort of desperation, and he almost failed at keeping it together, pressing in way too close against the police officer. He had grown unbearably hard; he could feel the telltale sign of Hijikata’s arousal pressing against his hip, and trying to be gentle and _not_ squash that injured arm between them was difficult when all the signals in his brain screamed at him to get closer, closer, closer. Then, he felt Hijikata’s palm to his chest, pushing firmly -- _no way_ \-- and breaking the kiss.

Gintoki’s head was a foggy mess, and he did not want to withdraw, felt like he might break from doing so, still aware that he had to at some distant, rational level. It did not make it easier. His breath was coming out hard and uneven as he leaned his forehead against Hijikata’s shoulder, not ready to look at him just yet.

“Am I hurting you?” Even to himself, his voice sounded raw and husky, way too strained.

“It’s not that,” Hijikata’s voice was hoarse, too, ragged with heavy breathing and some underlying emotion Gintoki couldn't read. “It’s just…” he paused, and Gintoki could feel him turn his face a little closer, so that his lips were almost touching his ear, nose buried in his hair. “I need to know.” The faintest of cracks to his voice, sending a tearing jolt up Gintoki’s spine. “Damn it. I have questions, I mean. Questions.” 

“Can’t…” Gintoki exhaled slowly, trying to sound calm, _not_ desperate. “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m not -- goddamnit. No.”

_Are you for real?!_

The refusal did not sit right with Gintoki. In fact, there was this petulant kind of _denial_ welling up inside of him, he just wanted to reject that stupid no, and he was surprised at the force of this emotion -- it was strong enough to send his head reeling, making him feel like he was about to trip and fall over, although they were standing perfectly still. 

“Please?” He blurted on pure impulse, mind lagging behind and screaming in disbelief -- he could not remember ever _begging_ someone like this, for something so indefinite, and his heart roared in exhilaration and fear. 

_Say something, bastard!_

Hijikata’s not-immediate response was killing him. The matter of the fact was that Gintoki could _feel_ the police officer tremble at his plea, the heat rising from his neck, and could practically _sense_ the wish to give in on him -- but he still repeated his goddamn ‘no’, as though he had to, not to break himself.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake!_

Gintoki ground his forehead against the idiot cop’s shoulder in exasperation; almost laughed because of the absurdity. What the hell was going on? He was not even sure what he wanted from Hijikata at this point, he just knew he needed him to stop saying no, so badly.

“Please?” He murmured, again, and he heard Hijikata let out a shaky breath, felt him shake his head, weakly, soft nice-smelling hair brushing the side of Gintoki’s face. One step further from the firm ‘no’, at least. Gintoki took courage from this, turning his head a little and repeating his demand, voice falling to a whisper, almost, against the other man’s neck. “Please, please, please. Just for a little while, let me?” 

In the tense silence, he had no trouble conjuring up a mental image of Hijikata’s flushed face, and his clenched jaws, and Gintoki took satisfactory note of how his fists were curling into tight balls, muscles tensing up along his shoulders and arms.

 _Why’re you fighting this so hard you stupid idiot? I can tell you want it, like me, you’re just_ \-- 

Ah.

“I won’t leave,” Gintoki added, in one breath.

One, two, maybe three, heartbeats drumming away into nothingness -- and something about Hijikata went from restraining to admitting. Gintoki sighed in silent relief. He did not need the police officer to spell out his surrender, the slight relaxation in his shoulders was enough of a cue for him to move back in -- kissing him hard and reaching down for his clothed erection, enticing a deep groan of satisfaction right away. If he wanted to tease Hijikata about this -- the repeating tendency of resisting him though he so clearly wanted it -- it was all shattered and forgotten about under the force of his own need.

He moved fast, dragging the police officer into the room, turned and shoved, having him pinned against the wall - _\- again_ \-- was carnally satisfying; but it also provided well-needed support, seeing how Hijikata was still slightly unsteady, and one-handed, too. It did not matter much as the fire between them was set free to reign, though; mouths locked together and hands fumbling to get obstructing clothing out of the way. Gintoki loved the feeling of Hijikata hot and hard in his hand too much, probably, took hazy note of the other man’s apparent dexterity -- he was as deft with his left hand as he was with his right; before mindlessly melting into his touch.

_Hello, Enma._

In the end, it was quick and messy -- utterly undignified, devastatingly desperate. None of them had the willpower of physical capability to restrain themselves at this point. Consequently, it was a matter of minutes of all-consuming desire -- hands moving fast and jerky, kisses turning urgently sloppy and curses mingled with moans -- before they were breaking the strain.

It was hard to tell who came first. At least to Gintoki, who had in all honesty lost track of his surroundings as well as his self-control as he reached his climax, blown away by the sudden ethereal intensity of the moment; he felt dizzy coming back from it, discovering his hands and stomach sticky with semen -- his or Hijikata’s, he could not really say. It was not like it mattered.

Right?

The sounds of their combined breathing, slowly returning to normal, as well as the beeps and soft crackling of hospital machines in the distance, were filling the room. Hijikata was still standing, but leaning heavily onto Gintoki’s shoulder, hands clutching at his yukata and head buried in his neck. He felt warm and vulnerable. _Fuck._ Gintoki wanted the idiot never to move away, knew he would, steeled himself for it, and was only a little disappointed at the stir of movement as Hijikata slowly straightened up, indicating that he needed space.

Gintoki backed away. There was a moment of dense silence stretching out between them. _What do I say? Shit, I did not think this through._ He scratched his head, awkwardly. Gaze lingering somewhere in the distance, he was momentarily at a loss for what to do. This happened way too often around the mayo bastard, but in this case he was not sure about anything. He had made that strange, spur-of-the-moment promise not to leave -- but when it boiled down to it, how could he be certain that was not exactly what Hijikata wanted him to do?

“I’m going to clean up,” Hijikata declared hoarsely. Gintoki discerned red cheeks, a flash of blue sweeping over him before being averted. “Give me a moment.”

Hijikata shouldered past him, into the bathroom adjacent to his room and closed the door, and Gintoki released a breath he hadn't been aware he’d been holding. The sound of running water came off distant, he had to consider the state he himself was in -- decided that the washbasin and tissues in the corner of the room had to make do -- then seated himself in a chair by the window, waiting. He felt oddly calm knowing Hijikata didn't want him to leave, but there was another part of him being a little bit on edge. Almost nervous, like. He ran a hand over his face, groaning.

_Might as well ask the Gorilla to write me off as dead, right?_

Once the door to the bathroom opened, bringing a scent of soap and newly washed skin into the room, Gintoki’s heart jumped only a little. His chair was positioned so that he had the window to his back, and a full view of Hijikata’s hospital bed, to where said man was headed, trying and failing to cover up for his limp. Gintoki wondered why it was, he could not bring himself to go over there. Supporting those in need was a deeply rooted part of his nature, as natural to him as breathing, and pachinko, occasionally -- and resisting that urge was practically hurting him. Yet, when it came to Hijikata nothing was simple; knowing that stubborn bastard, he would most likely laugh in his face if he tried to help him. 

So, Gintoki settled with silently watching. Hijikata sat down on the bed, reached for a pack of cigarettes on the night stand and lit one up, before leaning back against the pillows. His gaze traveled over to Gintoki, who felt a little pang to his chest; meeting those eyes he was met with well-known defiance, but also with a new kind of determination. The bastard had made up his mind, and Gintoki suspected, and perhaps feared, too, just what it might be about.

_Why am I surprised? I knew it’d come to this, one day._

Not knowing what Hijikata thought of him, what he made of his past with the Joui and the one he had been then, was getting to him in some strange, nagging way. In fact, part of him almost wanted the stupid cop to bring it up, at this point. To tell him it was impossible so that they could end this farce for a _plausible_ reason; one that Gintoki could make sense of, maybe. 

_Like you could stand the thought of this ending, you pathetic liar,_ this dry, uncharacteristically self-deprecating inner voice of his pointed out and Gintoki snorted, soundlessly. The silence was too much for him to bear.

“Oi, are you gonna say something? Gin-san’s growing old waiting for you and your questions.”

“Yeah, well, what doesn’t kill you,” Hijikata muttered, annoyance carved into his brow at once as he blew out some smoke. “I’ve been waiting for your lazy ass long enough, already.”

_You have?_

“That’s the issue here?” Gintoki shook his head. “Really, Hijikata-kun, if that’s what’s eating you --”

“I have questions about Takasugi Shinsuke,” Hijikata interjected, impatiently, and Gintoki startled slightly. He had not been expecting that, exactly. He met the police officer’s steady gaze for a moment before turning his head to look out the window.

“What about him?”

“What‘s your connection to him?”

“There’s no connection.”

“Don’t give me that. You know I know about you and your old pals, let’s skip the bullshit.”

“Yeah, well -- what does it matter? We don’t keep in touch if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gintoki heard Hijikata sigh, saw him stubbing out his cigarette out of the corner of his eye.

“It matters since we believe the Kiheitai to be involved in some pretty bad business, lately.” His tone was way too formal. “If not directly, they’re certainly behind the scenes, somewhere, pulling the strings -- your man is the largest spider in the net. I suspect he’s been in contact with Sasaki Isaburo, too.”

Gintoki considered this in silence. It was not at all impossible, what the cop was saying. It was just that, he rather did not have Hijikata bothering himself with the likes of Takasugi. It felt wrong on a fundamental level, too dangerous; like two polar opposites, sharp around the edges and ready to explode at contact -- were suddenly edging close to one another. 

“So what? You figure, just because I’m the Shiroyasha, I might be secretly siding with him?”

“Are you?”

It was Gintoki’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not.”

“And your relationship --”

“There’s some bad blood there,” Gintoki suddenly felt weary beyond words, yet knew he had to demolish that notion once and for all. “You should know this, Hijikata-kun. Damn, I took you for a diligent worker -- didn’t you read the reports of the Benizakura incident?” 

He cast Hijikata a sidelong glance, took note of his narrowed eyes -- he was intently listening despite being irritated -- before looking out the window again. 

“We fought together once and we lost it all. He never got past it. That’s all there is to it.”

Gintoki hoped that Hijikata couldn't hear the strain in his voice. Hoped the images flashing by his inner eye did not show on his face. He couldn't bear the thought of the Vice-Chief knowing just how well he remembered it, how clearly he could still hear Takasugi’s screams inside his head, the heartwrenching despondency in his voice as he _begged_ him not to do it. How he still felt that horrible _crack_ to his heart as he did it, anyway.

How he still saw the strands of Sensei’s hair dancing on the wind. 

**. . .**

“Something else you wanna know, Vice-Chief?”

Hijikata hated the mock formal way in which he was suddenly being addressed, but it was also a goddamn relief. Gintoki’s expression of detached boredom was floating back into place, and he found he preferred it to that momentary flash of unthinkable sadness on his face. _Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?_ On some level, he regretted having asked about Takasugi, yet knew it had been inevitable. He knew when to stop, though.

“Yeah. What makes you think you’re entitled to send the Shinsengumi a bloody invoice?” He huffed, deliberately bringing them back to a safe, if somewhat worn, subject. 

Gintoki gave him a blank stare, and Hijikata folded his arms over his chest as he continued. 

“If I had hired a good-for-nothing goddamn _criminal_ as my personal bodyguard, I think I’d have remembered.”

At this, Gintoki was breaking into a wide smile, and Hijikata had to fight back the momentary urge to reciprocate -- he hadn’t realised how gloomy the world looked without the idiot’s inappropriate elation.

“Why, you didn’t have to hire me, Hijikata-kun. I’d say that’s my specialty, and why you like me, too -- I know just what you need without you having to tell me.” The bastard _winked. “_ In this case, it happened to be my bodyguard services, for which I believe I deserve proper payment. As for my other services, I don’t accept payment, why _that_ would be --”

“Who’s needing your ruddy services?” Hijikata snapped, ears reddening. “You’re just cheap enough to use this opportunity to make some money, bastard. Odd Jobs must be some shitty business, seeing how you need to resort to doing fake jobs.”

“Wasn’t all that fake in the end, was it, Hijikata-kun?” Gintoki raised an eyebrow. “If you must now, I’d do it all again.” Red eyes were changing, again, going a little darker, intensely watching him. “For free, too.”

“Unlikely story,” Hijikata muttered, using his nicotine addiction as an excuse to look away, fumbling for another cigarette. “Money’s your incentive in 99 cases out of 100, you total bum.”

Gintoki must have moved exactly at that moment, because Hijikata was startled to notice him at the side of the bed. Leaning close, the sweet-talking degenerate was offering him the lighter -- _click_ \-- the smell of him growing stronger than what was tolerable. 

“Well, I’d say you’re lucky to have met someone as hapless and indigent as myself. _Bed_ is the poor man’s opera, you know.”

“Goddamnit, will you ever stop with the bullshit,” Hijikata scoffed, feeling himself furiously blushing as he snatched the lighter from the Yorozuya, who was stupidly grinning by now. He was expecting him to move away and almost crushed his cigarette between his lips as the bastard did the exact opposite -- promptly sitting down on the edge of the bed, true to his habit; way too close.

“Move over, will ya. Gin-san needs a little space, too.”

“There’s no space for you, to begin with! Don’t get so close! ” Hijikata objected, blushing harder, but he shuffled closer to the wall anyway, feeling Gintoki edging in beside him. Before he knew it, the bastard was leaning back against the pillows, getting himself shamelessly comfortable and giving off a scent of strawberries and contentment Hijikata clearly detested. Detested, and knew he could get used to.

“Wow, this is nice, Hijikata-kun. No wonder you’ve been all happy and snug in here, not caring about the way ordinary people have to struggle to make a living in the real world~”

“I haven’t! Bastard, what are you even talking about? Since when did you ever struggle, by the way?” Hijikata hissed, being irritated, surely, but also way too aware of the sudden closeness, the warmth of Gintoki’s body beside him strangely soothing his mind’s panicky back and forth kind of reasoning. 

“Oh, I’m struggling, alright, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki told him, gravely, turning to face him. “As a matter of fact, I’m struggling right now.”

His face was too close, red eyes too serious; Hijikata’s heart a fluttery mess.

_What do you mean?_

They both heard the distant tumult down the corridor, but only Hijikata knew that the urgency in the voices floating towards them was most likely caused by his sudden exit earlier. He let out a shaky sigh, meeting Gintoki’s eyes.

“They’re coming here.”

Gintoki nodded.

“I know.”

Hijikata closed his eyes. Waiting for the Yorozuya to withdraw was worse than he had anticipated. In fact, he had to nerve himself not to reach for him. 

“When will you be discharged?” Gintoki’s question came out low and a little husky, bringing Hijikata’s attention back to the fact he had not moved away yet, and he opened one eye to look at him.

_Why do you ask?_

“I’m not sure. In a week, maybe.”

Gintoki’s lips pressed close to his, the light touch burning its way straight into the centre of Hijikata’s chest. _Idiot._ Then he got out of the bed, and swiftly moved over to the door. Before sneaking out, he cast Hijikata a last look over his shoulder, eyes smiling.

“I’ll come see you, then.” 

**. . .**

tbc.


	9. Some Ladies Are Neither Like Flowers, Nor Like Mosquito Repellents

The first really hot day of summer came faster than anyone in Edo was prepared for. Gone were the freshly warm breeze of spring, almost at once crudely replaced by the sticky heat reminiscent of long summer days. Long summer days spent best on your back, in the shade, neglecting your summer homework in favour of a nice nap. Not that _Hijikata_ had had any summers like that. He was hardly one to slack off to begin with; neither as a kid, nor as a full-grown man. In the end, there was probably few people who took their job as seriously as he did: it simply wasn’t _like_ him to disregard duty. 

And yet -- here he was.

Seated at a wooden table in the shade of a red parasol, outside a small dango shop, with a drink with a higher alcohol content than what was morally defensible at this time of day; in goddamn Kabukicho. The work day had only just begun, he was in his uniform, supposed to be patrolling -- clearly not patrolling -- and he just felt like a fake version of himself. To be fair, it was not that he wasn't _aware_ that he was acting out of character; he had just lost his will do to anything about it.

And whose bloody fault was that?

Placing a hand over his face, Hijikata let out a long sigh, heavy enough to make him feel light-headed. Or was that the heat? He really couldn’t tell any longer. He rummaged his uniform jacket for cigarettes; only to notice he was out, which did not improve his mood one bit. Since _when_ did he forget about buying cigarettes? That was just the tip of the iceberg, but at the moment it just felt like the worst thing about it all, and he could but come to one plausible, _dreadful_ conclusion; and that would be that the Yorozuya’s hopelessly slothful ways were somehow rubbing off on him, little by little. It wouldn’t be all that strange even; seeing how the bastard occupied his mind lately, without permission of course. He was everywhere, all the time, slowly infesting his mind like an all-consuming, paralysing kind of virus.

Yes. Gintoki was making him _sick._

Physically, he was fine already; scarred but more or less healed and back to work as usual. Mentally, he had totally deteriorated. This fixation on Gintoki, this one-sided goddamn infatuation; Hijikata found he could no longer do anything about. While it caused him to hate the Yorozuya, that in itself was nothing new. Wishing the idiot dead had since long been part of his daily routine. But the grounds for that wish had always been sort of vague, mainly rooted in how generally annoying he was. Now, Hijikata plainly hated him for not being around.

_“I’ll come see you, then.”_

What had he meant by that? It could have been days, but to Hijikata it felt like weeks, and while the Yorozuya was ever-present within his head; he was conspicuous by his absence in reality. Sure, there had been times before when they didn’t meet for a while, but it had been different then. Or was it just Hijikata who was stupidly under the impression that things had somewhat changed? Into what, he wasn’t sure, he just knew that it was growing into something so frustrating it was difficult to even try to comprehend. Why would he be missing that idiot’s agonizing presence in his life? His endless complaining and warm hands and sweet-smelling breath against his skin at all the wrong times; his _bullshit --_ why would he miss that?

 _You don’t have to be a rocket scientist --_ a dry voice in the back of his head started -- but Hijikata shook his head, hard, shutting the rest out by sheer, painstaking determination.

_No._

It was not like Gintoki was _really_ gone, either. Like always Hijikata felt his presence all over Edo, particularly in this godforsaken district; even the people here seemed to be somehow smeared in the degenerate’s decadent colours. Looking at anyone at this place, it was almost as if they all had a knowing kind of look on their face, like they wanted to say ‘what are you waiting for, Vice-Chief?, and Hijikata wanted to shout at them to _shut up_ already and if he was waiting for ‘then’, what bloody business was it of theirs? Unless they could tell him when the hell ‘then’ was going to happen, he was not interested.

Hijikata noticed he had been clutching his drink too tightly, and knocked it back swiftly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling along the back of his neck, making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. 

He itched for a cigarette.

_A smoke, and a stroke of amnesia, I wouldn’t mind._

This was ridiculous. Hijikata was just about to up and leave when he spotted a familiar, dark-haired girl in a pink kimono and an eyepatch in the shape of an orange flower. She was standing next to the shop, close to the street; visibly fidgeting, looking all around distinctly uncomfortable. Hijikata felt they had met but could not quite pinpoint when and and where until he saw the man hurrying towards her. Those slanted eyes and light beige hair belonged to the leader of the guardians of the Yagyuu family, and although it could be debated whether or not that was the title Yagyuu Kyuubei preferred at the moment, Hijikata concluded the girl in the kimono was the Young Master of the clan.

“Young Ma-- Lady! You look absolutely stunning!” Ayumu exclaimed as he approached the girl, wringing his hands together. “A goth Lolita outfit would’ve looked even better on you I dare say, but this isn’t bad! Not bad at all!”

Yagyuu Kyuubei was blushing at this, but it did not escape Hijikata how her forehead was falling into shadows, her gaze radiating a menacing kind of glow. It passed her servant by, however, as he rattled on.

“Whoa, I wonder what’s making you behave so lady-like all of a sudden, are you waiting for someone?” His eyes were all but opening, revealing glittery orbs. “Don’t tell me. It’s that silver haired guy again, the only one who’s been allowed to touch our Young Lady, it must be! That means you’d also let him touch your XXX and XXX and --”

BAM! 

Even Hijikata could see that one coming. He eyed the cloud of smoke on the other side of the street that was Toujou Ayumu’s knocked out body with barely mustered sympathy. Yagyuu Kyuubei was adopting a fairly unladylike behaviour while hurling bodies, wasn’t she?

“He’s _not_ allowed,” she muttered, while wiping her hands on the fabric of her kimono, as though she had unintentionally touched something really filthy. Her look was defiant, though she still seemed majorly embarrassed, and it caused Hijikata to wonder. 

Was the Yorozuya really the only guy allowed to touch her? Why him, of all people? _Please,_ the voice in his head piped up again. _You know why._ Hijikata frowned, feeling this stubborn will to deny it ebb away in a flow of exasperation. Yes, he knew first-hand that Gintoki had this way of getting under people’s skin, for no good reason, and without any visible intent -- he just sort of ended up being there. Question was, did he even know what he was doing? That irresponsible asshole was most probably not even aware of how the Yagyuu girl was wandering around Kabukicho, in this terrible heat, with the vain hope to get a glimpse of his hopeless, stupid--

Or not.

Kyuubei’s uncovered eye was going wide and sparkly, her cheeks turning even more pink at the sight of someone approaching.

It wasn’t Gintoki.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for too long, Kyuu-chan,” Shimura Otae smiled apologetically. “I got held up looking for anti-mosquito products.”

Hijikata sat up straight, and turned in his seat. For various reasons, he didn't want to be spotted by the female gorilla. One being her close connection with the Yorozuya; he didn’t want her go babbling about seeing him drinking in this part of town. In his uniform. _Why do I care? Damn it._ Out of the the corner of his eye, he saw the women chatting on amicably.

“Don’t worry about it, Tae-chan! I haven’t been waiting for long at all.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. My, don’t you look pretty today! So you’re ready for a girls day out? I’ve been longing to do this with you.”

Shimura Tae was looking genuinely happy, her smile warm and pure -- though Hijikata knew what monster hid behind that spotless surface, seeing her like this, Kondou’s obsession with her became almost understandable. 

Was she smiling this way once she met with the Yorozuya, too? 

_Fuck._

Hijikata motioned for his drink to be refilled, and downed it quickly. The thought of them together was troubling on a level he hadn’t before allowed himself to consider. They would make _sense_ , that was the worst part. _Seeing how nothing about you and that sorry excuse for a protagonist does;_ the nagging voice was back, uselessly pointing out what he already knew.

“I-- I didn’t think to look for mosquito repellents, Tae-chan, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how it would bother you on a day like this.”

Kyuubei was looking crestfallen.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Oate took the Yagyuu girl by the arm, and gestured towards a figure standing about a bit further down the street. “I found the perfect one, as a matter of fact.”

Hijikata looked over, then averted his gaze, forehead darkening.

_I saw nothing._

“See? It was just laying around under some shelves at the supermarket so I asked if I could buy it, and they said I could have it for free.”

“That’s great, Tae-chan! It looks just like a gorilla covered in peanut butter carrying a fan.”

“Doesn’t it?” Otae smiled her close-eyed smile. “It walks too, so this way we can go wherever and the mosquitos will just stick to it, and leave us be, amazing isn’t it? Let’s go~”

_I mourn for you, Kondou-san._

Hijikata looked deep into his drink. Some things were just not meant to be, was it? Like Kondou and the Shimura woman, he could not for the world understand why one would sink to such levels of absolute humiliation just to be close to the subject of one’s affections.

Absolutely not.

(...)

_Oh for god’s sake!_

Hijikata rose impatiently, ready to pay and leave; when he saw another form, covered in some other kind of sticky paste, emerging from the shadows of an alley across the street; gazing haughtily at the retreating trio.

“Pff! So he thinks he’s reached a golden level now! He knows nothing about the refined ways of stalking, apparently.”

The shape of glasses and long hair sticking to a shapely, decidedly female body was unmistakable, and Hijikata brought a palm to his forehead. Was there a saying about one idiot seldomly appearing on its own? In any case, it should be.

Ayame Sarutobi raved on to herself, unperturbed by the way people walking by was looking at her in slight alarm, covering the eyes of their children, or hurried on as though afraid they’d catch her weirdness if they stayed too long.

“Honestly. That’s way too basic what he’s doing. I’d never go with something as stupid as peanut butter. Mosquitoes love natto.”

_No one loves natto apart from you. Besides haven’t you pretty much copied him?_

Hijikata watched Sarutobi place her sticky hands on her sticky hips, laughing maniacally at the sky.

“I’m sure Gin-san will walk past here soon, just looking for a nice mosquito repeller and ta-daa~ Here I will be! Offering my sticky services! And Gin-san wouldn’t want me to take a step away from him., I’ll be with him at all times, and I’ll let him do all the dirty things he wants--”

Hijikata shook his head, blocking out the rest. _That,_ he did not want to picture. At all. He left a handful of coins on the counter, and without casting the ninja stalker, now rolling around on the ground looking disturbingly happy, another glance, he turned left to walk down the street. 

_I need to get out of this unholy district._

It really was stiflingly hot, and his uniform jacket was not breathing at all, but his nicotine craving still kept him walking in the sun. By the time he had found a vending machine and bought a new packet; he was sweating profusely and his throat felt dry as sandpaper. _I guess I could do with one more drink._ Patrolling seemed less important by the minute. In fact, perhaps he’d just take this day off -- it _was_ too goddamn hot to be working. So, Hijikata entered the first bar he came across, distantly aware that the alcohol pleasantly swirling about his systems probably had a part to play in this decision, but found that he didn’t care.

 _His idiocy_ is _rubbing off on me._

It wasn’t until he was seated at the counter, jacket blissfully off, and a cold drink in front of him; that Hijikata noticed the blonde woman sitting cross-legged on a barstool next to him. She was silently regarding him top to toe, a trail of smoke slowly rising from her signature kiseru the only thing about her in motion.

_Why am I even surprised?_

Hijikata stared back at the Courtesan of Death, unsure of what to say, or how to greet her. They had never really interacted on their own before, and if he was to be completely honest, Hijikata would have preferred it to stay that way. Tsukuyo was too beautiful, too serious; he detected the flicker of recognition in her violet eyes before she firmly looked away, taking a drag on her pipe.

_Okay?_

Following her lead, Hijikata sat back and smoked his cigarette, sipping his drink in between drags. Strangely, he did not find the silence stretching out between them particularly awkward. It felt rather like an unspoken agreement not to say anything, a mutual understanding and belief that words were, in most cases, unnecessary.

Out of all the women around Gintoki, Tsukuyo was probably the one he found the most sensible. Why that was, he had no idea. It _could_ be because he saw something of himself in her, but most likely it was just that, in comparison with the others; she was undeniably the least offensive. Quiet and lethal as she was, Hijikata appreciated the reserved kind. Hypothetically, Tsukuyo was probably his perfect match. Well. His type, at least.

 _Please. Your type is obviously the penniless, notoriously lazy, utterly hopeless, silver-haired kind,_ the sarcastic voice inside his head was back, needlessly pointing out the truth. Drinking _did_ make the mind go sober. Hijikata was, unfortunately maybe, suddenly clear-sighted enough to touch at the subject of his own preferences -- he had always thought he would never love anyone after Mitsuba. He had thought the part of him capable of such emotions dead and buried along with her, but it seemed Enma had other plans for him. Dealing him such a bad hand at this stage in his life, Hijikata figured the King of Hell must truly hate him, but here he was.

Irrevocably in love with the largest idiot in Edo.

Just like everyone else.

_You too, right?_

Hijikata watched the woman smoking quietly beside him out of the corner of his eye. He knew more about her history with the Yorozuya than he wished to. Such was the fate of police officers; all suspicious activity and unusual events taking place in this town would eventually end up on his desk. Although the Shinsengumi had not been directly involved, what went down in Yoshiwara back then was already turning into something of an urban legend among Edo citizens, and while the details were still very fuzzy around the edges; one thing was certain beyond doubt -- it was the joined efforts of the Hyakka and the Yorozuya that removed Housen from power and let the sun shine over the underground red-light district once more. 

Knowing Gintoki, he would never admit to having something to do with it, whether it was about the Yoshiwara incident or this woman. But Hijikata was not completely gullible. Hell, she was a courtesan, wasn’t she? And Gintoki being the good-for-nothing bloody Casanova that he was; certainly they had not spent all that time together without doing it.

_It._

Hijikata was suddenly sweating again, and it wasn’t the heat causing him to go red. It might have been the alcohol, but he just could not stop the wicked images flooding his mind. It was maddeningly easy, horrible really -- to picture the two of them together. 

_Does he look at you the way he looks at me before he kisses you? What’s his expression like, when he’s between your legs? Is he grinning, like he’s never tasted anything so nice, like when he had his lips around --_

No, no, no. That was a road he did not intend to wander, not today, not in a million years. Hijikata shook his head fervently. Tsukuyo slanted him a sideways glance, looking a bit wary -- as though she could sense the essence of his thoughts. Hijikata smiled humorlessly at her, and when the bar owner poured him another drink, she startled him by suddenly speaking.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she gestured towards Hijikata, before settling back with her pipe again, wordlessly watching the bar owner place a cup in front of her. 

Hijikata, slightly puzzled, watched her in turn, eyes following the lines of her elegant, cold profile. _You really are like me, aren’t you?_ Whatever residual jealousy he felt towards her was tapering off, replaced by a sense of camaraderie he did not quite understand. As she brought her drink to her lips, he raised his, and as they drank in silence, Hijikata felt oddly comforted. By her swallowed-down feelings, by not being alone in this godforsaken little bar in Kabukicho, waiting but not-really, getting less sober by the second --

Hijikata noticed the way Tsukuyo’s cheeks had gone brilliantly red a little bit too late.

**. . .**

The sultry heat pressing down over Edo would normally keep Gintoki indoors. Indoors, cooled by the AC, a sweet drink clinking with ice cubes in his hand and a JUMP magazine over his face; he’d be perfectly happy letting this day go into a lazy haze and getting full marks on wasting the absolute bare minimum of energy. There was no reason for him to be doing the exact opposite; to be taking a detour a day this hot. It simply wasn’t _like_ him to oppose his inner couch potato.

And yet -- here he was.

Outside a building complex that housed an unholy number of police officers. Gintoki scratched the back of his neck, looking up at the gate to the Shinsengumi Headquarters. _What am I doing here?_ It would be a stretch to say he was in absolutely no trouble with the law, and he had no wish to be thrown back into jail, so for him to come here in broad daylight was just bold and stupid and _desperate,_ right? He’d probably do better sneaking in during night time, when the darkness provided a bit of shelter and well-needed coolness. But that would make him a coward, and Gintoki was pretty sure he was done beating around the bush.

Well.

He had made a promise. Although much could be said about him and reliability; he really was not one to break a promise. A flash of Kagura’s sceptical face as she asked about her paycheck crossed Gintoki’s mind, utterly unasked for -- _not_ this _kind of promise._

So, it had been a while since Hijikata had left the hospital. Gintoki knew this -- because Gintoki had been counting the days. Counting them, waiting, and preparing for _what,_ who the hell knew, but then the season finale was suddenly upon him, and things had gotten unusually busy and confusing. _Yeah, what the actual fuck, Gorilla?_ He was obviously turned into the kind of main character without a shred of luck or dignity left, and how did he even explain it? _I’m sorry I got held up, Hijikata-kun. By what? Oh, you know, the usual. A golden-haired android stole my identity and everybody but a dog forgot about my existence there for a while._

Haha. Ha.

Gintoki grimaced. Was Hijikata even bothered about the fact that he had not shown up? _Probably not._ That standoffish bastard had surely forgotten all about it; he was most likely completely fine, too. All good and relaxed, completely oblivious to the pain and hardships Gintoki had been through in the meanwhile. Which just wasn’t fair.

_Gin-san’s been pretty troubled, you know!_

The Kintoki business had kept him busy trying to be remembered by the people in his immediate vicinity, but he had been sort of reluctant to approach the subject of what it would feel like if _Hijikata_ forgot about him. He was getting quite skilled at pushing thoughts of the Vice-Chief off the map during daytime, but it was unsurprisingly much harder at night.

It seemed like Hijikata had, for all intents and purposes, made Gintoki’s head his overnight stay apartment. As soon as he placed his head on the pillow the bastard would come knocking. “ _I_ _don’t sleep well, either, bastard.”_ His deep voice would fill the gap in Gintoki’s chest with a swirl of emotions he had absolutely not asked for, but he could never refuse that imaginary voice and next thing he knew he’d have to take a full look on his face, too.

_What would I do if you looked at me and saw a stranger?_

What would he do if his presence did not affect Hijikata? If that annoyingly pretty face remained blank upon seeing him? No disapproving line of creased eyebrows. No angry flash within sharp blue eyes. No set of perfect teeth bared in frustration. No cheeks keen to go the colour of tomatoes at the sheer mention of a kiss. No lips with the evasive shape and feel of hot water, swollen from too much -- 

_Goddamnit._

So he was missing the shitty cop. Questions? _Send them to the author._

“Hey, Danna,” A familiar voice piped up next to him, and Gintoki turned to see Yamazaki’s nondescript face smiling tentatively at him. He was dressed in a blue summer yukata and carried a plastic bag, filled with anpan, presumably. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi there, Jimmy,” Gintoki greeted him with a nod, wondering if this was his cue to leave, before things got more complicated than they needed to be. ”I was just passing by, is all.”

“Oh, I see. Well, the Vice-Chief’s out, anyway.”

 _Why’re you telling me that_? Was what Gintoki had intended to ask. 

Instead: “He is?” A careful amount of disinterest applied to his tone, he focused his gaze on a spot in the wall. _He didn’t even say his name_ _._ Damn, the heat was getting real. He could feel the slow trickle of sweat drops along the small of his back.

“Yes, he left in quite an ugly mood this morning,” Yamazaki laughed awkwardly, bringing a hand to the back of his head. “I don’t know what it’s about, but I do know that I wouldn’t want to run into him during patrol today.”

 _What makes you think I care about what mood he’s in?_ Gintoki thought he would say. 

Instead: “I guess you wouldn’t know where he’s patrolling?” He sounded casual enough asking that, he thought.

“Where..?” Yamazaki looked nonplussed. “I couldn’t say, Danna. Normally he follows a strict pattern, but lately… how do I say it-- “ Yamazaki hesitated, briefly, causing Gintoki to raise his eyebrows. “I can’t quite describe it, but he’s acting a bit odd.”

 _In what way?_ Gintoki really did not want to ask, and was relieved when Yamazaki resumed talking anyway.

“He’s as volatile as ever, just less consequent, I’d say; it’s like he’s not really paying attention at all times. The other day some of the new recruits were reading Men’s Joker during morning assembly and the Vice-Chief did not send them to the afterlife. He overslept twice last week, and--” Yamazaki said all of this in a grave tone, as though he was announcing Hijikata’s impending death. “-- yesterday he forgot to put mayonnaise on his ramen.”

“You mean to say he’s acting like a normal goddamn _human being_?” Gintoki said wryly. “Well, that _is_ weird.”

Yamazaki looked over at Gintoki with a pensive frown. “Yes. Do you know anything about it, Danna?” 

_What?_

“No,” Gintoki lied through his teeth, shaking his head. “Why would I know what goes on in that moron’s head, I don’t even--“ he started, but was cut off by a 100% unwished-for voice.

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s bad not to speak the truth, Danna?“ Okita Sougo drawled. “Lord Enma will rip out your tongue.”

Yamazaki stiffened at the sight of the Captain of the First Squad sauntering out through the gates, katana swinging loosely by the hip and a smug look on his face: Gintoki stayed unimpressed. _Kids these days._ Where did they get all the baseless bravado?

“Don’t you worry about that, Souichirou-kun,” he sighed, making a little show out of picking his nose and flicking the result away over his shoulder. “Enma got my soul ages ago, I’m sure he wouldn’t care for my tongue at this point.”

“You sure?” Okita stopped in front of Gintoki, adopting a stance of leisure as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps he’d be interested if he knew where it had been lately, wouldn’t you think?”

Gintoki could feel his eyelid twitch. _Impertinent brat._ Although Okita did not elaborate, the unspoken words hung heavy in between them, unsaid and vibrant with meaning. On a rational, grown-up kind of level, Gintoki knew he should leave. Now he knew Hijikata wasn’t around, there really was no reason for him to engage in a conversation with the kid. Still, he was too much of a kid himself to let go of a direct challenge, or well; an implication thereof.

“Jeez. A free man really can’t walk by this shithole without getting harrassed for no good reason, huh,” he complained, folding his arm back into his yukata. “I was leaving, but now when I think about it, I might pop inside anyways, to file a complaint. Or two.”

Okita snorted in a way Gintoki did not like at all, looking nothing short of amused as he responded: “I’m sorry to inform you, Danna, but the only one who’d be interested in hearing your complaints is absent. So whatever you _real_ business is with him, you’ll just have to come back another day.”

Gintoki could feel the beginnings of a manic grin stretching at the corners of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t mind never coming back, thank you very much,” he said. “In this heat, it really stinks around here. Honestly, it makes me wonder. Does bakufu lap dogs shit more than regular dogs?”

Okita’s smirk took on a dark edge at this.

“I wouldn’t know, Danna. How about you tell me? I hear you’re keeping one of those around yourself. Difficult to potty train, is he?” 

Gintoki ignored the flare of anger in the pit of his stomach, paralleling Okita’s undaunted expression with a horrid shit-eating grin of his own.

“I see _your_ mother did a poor job at teaching you it’s bad meddling with adult people’s business, Souichirou-kun.”

The chill that had crept in to Gintoki’s voice had, as expected, no effect whatsoever on the First Squad Captain. Yamazaki, on the other hand, was looking increasingly uncomfortable as he glanced between the two of them.

“Captain, Danna…” he tried, raising his hands and waving them about meekly; but they didn’t see him. Or, they had forgotten about his existence, more like, as a staredown between sadists ensued. Gintoki was trying to gauge the dimension of what the brat really knew by looking him right in the eye, but he was predictably hard to read. Okita’s eyes were glittering with malice as he spoke.

“Wow. You’re intense, Danna. Did I hit a nerve? Could it be that, you lost your dog?”

Gintoki was surprised at the way his body reacted to the words; a white-hot kind of fury grating at his patience was making it hard for him to stay impassive. 

“Kid, you’re a hundred years too early to hit a fragment of a piece of a crumb of my nerves,” he managed, sounding relatively calm, then added: “Besides, I didn’t lose him.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“You better be, Danna.”

Gintoki met Okita’s maroon gaze dead on. _What’s this about?_ The kid’s eyes were brimming with some implicit emotion he still had trouble discerning. It almost seemed -- and this was really a rough kind of estimation -- like Okita was trying to tell him to look after that dog. Or, there would be hell to pay. _That’s a roundabout fucking way of telling me that,_ Gintoki grumbled inwardly, but his anger had already lost its edge.

Then, Okita let out a whistle, finally averting his gaze: “How the mighty have fallen,” he shrugged, looking as though he was faintly disgusted with the entire business. “So, if I told you I knew the whereabouts of your precious pet, how much would you be willing to pay me to tell you?”

Gintoki sighed.

“Careful, Souichirou-kun. I almost mistook you for a good person there for a while.”

~ 

Hurrying along a maze of Edo streets towards Kabuki District, at a pace much faster than what was probably healthy in this kind of heat, Gintoki experienced a sense of befuddling déjà-vu. _Did I always chase after you?_ It was strange, he did not think he had really chased after anyone before; Hijikata being the inglorious exception, but that only proved what he already, deep-down, knew.

_“Rumour has it he’s in Kabukichou having drinks with the Courtesan of Death.”_

Was what the snotty-nosed brat had told him. Gintoki chose not to think about the amount of dignity and money-he-did-not-really-have he had have to cough up for that little piece of information. Anyway, it mattered little since he planned on having Hijikata pay for it. In more senses than one. 

Still, he could not wholly wrap his head around Okita’s words. No one _had drinks_ with Tsukuyo, that was preposterous, and the thought of Hijikata having drinks with _anyone,_ even more so. The idea of the two of them together was so absurd, he couldn't really -- 

_Shit._

Gintoki had reached the bar that Okita had, slyly and with way too much satisfaction, named. He did not have to enter to be able to tell what was going on. Half of the interior had been tossed, or hurled, out on the street, and the sound of music and drunken voices could be heard from the inside. Past experiences including a drunk Tsukuyo carved into his muscle memory held Gintoki back for a moment, and he peeked inside the bar cautiously, feeling the sweat run freely down his temples.

It was not quite what he had expected.

The bar was wrecked; that in itself was no surprise. Gintoki spotted the bar owner huddling behind the counter, and the guests spread about the place in various states of alarm and drunken stupor; some hiding under toppled over furniture, some neatly pinned to the wall by their clothes. Much could be said about Tsukuyo, but she was pretty damn skilled at throwing her kunai. Even while hammered, it seemed. The surprising element lay in the scene playing itself out in the middle of the bar. _What the..?_ Gintoki rubbed at his eyes, lowered his hands, then rubbed them again.

The Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi and the Courtesan of Death sat Indian style in front of each other on the floor. In between them was a bottle of liquor, two half-filled cups, and a dice game of some sort, in which they seemed deeply immersed; their backs slightly hunched and squinting eyes trying to zoom in to the dice on the floor. For all it looked like, they were having a hell of a good time, and absolutely nothing to do with the chaotic state of the bar.

_What's going on here?_

Gintoki teetered between disbelief and something like exasperated anger; ignoring the way his heart made its flipping over kind of thing at the sight of the police officer. Hijikata was in his shirtsleeves, all messy-haired and red-cheeked and _pi_ _ss drunk;_ apparently. Gintoki could tell at a glance. He was also looking pretty damn sexy. This was so not the time for that, however. He needed his wits about him if he intended to get out of this situation unharmed. _What situation?_ A scathing, inner voice asked him. _You're not even in it. Just look at them. They're having a blast without you._

They really were. Tsukuyo seemed to be about as drunk as the Vice-Chief; if the unfocused eyes and flushed face was anything to go by. Sandy hair fell in loose strands around her face, and she had kicked off her heels and sat with her feet bare. That wasn't the shocking part, though. _Why_ _haven’t you beaten him up yet?_ Gintoki didn’t understand. He could not count the times she had beaten the living daylights out of him once she had gotten even a droplet of alcohol into her system. He had taken her for an indiscriminately violent drunk, but if so, how come Hijikata looked perfectly fine? 

Said police officer was presently rolling the dice, turning up a result Gintoki could not read, but which had Tsukuyo clap her hands in delight.

“Brilliant!” She hiccuped in between words. “Death by strangulation. Very fitting, indeed.” 

Hijikata straightened his back and nodded. 

“He couldn’t wish for a more dramatic way to go, I believe it suits him…” A faint slurr to his words marked the slow progress of a drunk man searching for the correct one. “... perfectly.”

_Oi, what kind of evil deed are you plotting?_

Gintoki’s forehead went dark as he watched Tsukuyo pick up the dice and roll them anew, wrinkling her forehead at the result. 

“No, that’s… too kinky, isn’t it?” She raised her head to give Hijikata a quizzical look, cheeks turning a shade pinker, and the police officer coughed.

“I don’t quite remember about that one,” he said evasively and Gintoki could tell, even standing by the door and knowing nothing about what they were really talking about, that it was a lie.

Tsukuyo looked mainly impatient.

“Really? But you were the one who came up with that one!” She stage-whispered, keeping one hand as a shield over her mouth as she leant really close to Hijikata. Like, really, really close, to speak into his ear and--

_I don’t bloody think so._

Gintoki’s body moved on its own accord.

**. . .**

tbc.


	10. Family Remedies Don’t Work on Hangovers and Crushes

“You took me to goddamn _Yoshiwara_?!”

Hijikata heard his own voice like a roaring echo inside his aching head, felt it scraping his parched throat; adding insult to injury most likely, but he couldn’t be bothered. Because he was angry. He had trouble deciding what was worse about his current predicament: the location, Gintoki’s presence or the fact that he had no idea _how the hell_ he had ended up there in the first place -- so he picked the most tangible one to be angry about.

“Oh. You’re awake.” The typically impassive _I don’t get what you’re so worked up about_ -stare he was receiving from the other samurai did not calm him down one bit.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me!” he hissed, struggling to get to his feet without staggering. His head throbbed and whirled a bit with the effort. _What have I done?_ He took hazy note of the fact that he was still in his uniform, though the jacket was missing. So it couldn’t be all that bad. Presumably. “I shouldn’t be here, and you know it!”

Even though he was sleep-muddled and slightly disoriented, Hijikata knew that he had made the correct assumption. Just like the silky, perfumed sheets he had woken up in, everything about the room they were currently in screamed of exuberance and decadence. The smell of tea leaves and incense mingled with the freshly clean scent of the tatami mat, the roof was lined with warmly shining lanterns, and the walls covered in heavy wall tapestries the colour of red and orange, with intricate, swirly patterns woven into the fabric with golden thread. If one took a closer look however, it was clear what the swirls really were: humans of all shapes and genders involved in lovemaking. All kinds. Mostly ungodly.

It made Hijikata really fucking uncomfortable. 

“Jeez, take it down a notch,” Gintoki replied in his usual toneless drawl, clearly _not_ uncomfortable. In fact, he looked right at home; sprawled out on the floor, chin casually propped in his hand while watching a television screen just next to the futon where Hijikata had woken up. _Of fucking course._ “This is nice, isn’t it?” 

“Nothing’s nice about it!” Hijikata swung around, looking for his katana and jacket, and spotted them at some hooks by the doors. “Why did you bring me here?!”

“Please,” Gintoki deadpanned. “You were doing a pretty good job getting here by yourself, I’d say. Getting all chummy with the leader of the Hyakka, you’d have to squint _really_ hard to be able to tell you wanted nothing to do with this place.” He didn’t tear his gaze from the telly as he continued. “Besides, would you really have wanted me to take you back to the barracks? I might be wrong but I thought you’d prefer it if your men remained unaware about this whole ‘getting shitfaced with the most famous courtesan of Edo’-thing you had going.”

Was there a chill to his voice, or did Hijikata imagine things? Either way, he was in no mood to admit that Gintoki was sort of right. Everything was probably better than being spotted piss drunk by his subordinates in the middle of the day. This time he wouldn’t be able to blame his disgraceful behaviour on a cursed sword, either. Still, Hijikata wanted to know _how_ he had ended up in the infamous red-light district, but he was reluctant to flat-out ask the Yorozuya about the details. 

The last thing he remembered was hazy but involved clinking glasses with Tsukuyo and coming up with a pretty morbid set of rules for a game of dice. He had the vaguest of recollections of yelling at someone, then being engulfed by a comforting scent of strawberries and his head spun even trying to remember the rest; which was presently all dark and smudged out in his mind, or at least too far off to reach at the moment. Hijikata had the creeping misgiving that, that might be for the best. He was in no state to deal with further humiliation and he sure as hell didn’t want Gintoki to tell him the story. Talk about unreliable narrator.

“Tch, are you saying you took me here out of consideration?” He ground out, at last; doing his very best to ignore the anxiety which threatened to rupture through his defenses and swallow him whole, if he just for one moment let go of the anger. It was still there, just barely. So, he hold on to it, fiercely, letting it colour his voice with darkness. “If so, you’ve been wasting your breath. I don’t remember having asked for your help, ever.”

At this, Gintoki turned his head a little, watching him out of the corner of his eye, just long enough for Hijikata to perceive the sceptical, borderline irritated, look on his face.

“Yeah? Then, tell me this. Where should I have taken you?”

“Nowhere! I don’t--” Hijikata started, but was cut short by Gintoki making a snorting sound.

“Don’t you say it, asshole. There was no way in hell you’d be able to go anywhere on your own in the state you were in, lest you’d want to make a complete fool of yourself. In one way or another.”

Hijikata could feel the heat blossoming up his neck: “Says the bloody expert,” he muttered, adding a quiet “and why do you care, anyways” that probably went unheard as he stiffly walked over to where his jacket hung in the hope he’d find his cigarettes in the breast pocket. _Please, be there._ They were. A small victory perhaps, but wrapping his fingers around the hall-full packet brought him a sense of consolation. He shook a cigarette out, keeping his face away from the Yorozuya while lighting it up. That idiot’s gaze was hot on him, he felt it trailing his footsteps as he started to pace the room, smoking.

_I should just leave._

Hijikata agonised. The circumstances couldn’t be worse. While part of him wanted to run for it, so much it had him feeling nearly sick withstanding it; there was another resilient force in motion within his body, telling him to resist that urge. He didn’t want Gintoki to know how much the whole situation stressed him out. He didn’t want to be a coward. He didn’t want to regret something later.

 _You damn fool,_ the voice in his head sounded sober, and habitually derisive _. What are you afraid of regretting? The end of_ this? _You should be rejoicing at the prospect of never having to feel like this again._

“If I had known you’d be such a wuss about this I’d probably just have brought you home,” Gintoki observed in his lackadaisical way, turning so that was laying on his stomach, face resting in his upturned palms. “But I figured that wasn’t ideal either. You know I live with a teenager, right? She’s at a sensitive age, our Kagura. Who knows what kind of impression it would leave on her to see a man such as yourself drunk off his ass, on a Tuesday, too. She might’ve had lost her faith in the world of adults.”

“You’re in no position to talk!” Hijikata barked, stopping to glare at the Yorozuya in spite of himself. “Don’t act all high and mighty because you were randomly _not_ drunk off your ass on a Tuesday! You normally are! Aren’t you the worst kind of adult she could’ve ever ended up with?!”

“I always try to set a good example for the kids,” Gintoki continued as though he hadn’t heard him, tapping a finger against his chin while taking on a wise, far away-look. “Therefore, I also wouldn’t want to make her a witness of the dirty things I’d do to you, Vice-Chief -- if I were to take you home. You know?”

Gintoki slanted him a sideways glance, and Hijikata’s face went up in flames. 

“I _don’t_ know! Stop making perverted assumptions on your own, goddamnit,” he managed, almost not stuttering at all, but his reflexes still had him turning around, away from the Yorozuya and his confusing suggestions. As per usual he could not tell whether he was flirting, or just teasing him. _What’s your deal?!_ Hijikata’s neck felt too warm -- _or is that your insouciant fucking eyes on me? --_ and his clothes too tight, and even though the room in itself was nice and cool, he was reminded about the heat of the day and had to wonder. For how long had he been out?

“What time is it, anyway?” He grumbled, taking a calming drag on his cigarette. If the faint throbbing in his head was anything to go by, he had managed to sleep at least some of the hangover off, but the room was all closed off, making it impossible to tell whether it was night or day.

“Now you ask?” Gintoki sighed. “It’s almost midnight. You’ve been sleeping like a log.”

_And what have you been doing all that time? Why are you still here?_

The words jumbled up in Hijikata’s throat, got difficult to spell out, and stuck. Did he want to know? He had almost made up his mind to ask about it when Gintoki spoke again; voice languid and amused.

“This is a nice view, by the way, Vice-Chief. I’m sure people tell you this all the time, but your ass in those uniform trousers looks pretty damn del--”

Hijikata turned in a flash, intent on kicking the perverted idiot through the wall, and was disappointed when his boot met with floor instead of human flesh. This was not the time to be amazed by the Yorozuya’s outstanding fighting skills; but his reflexes were _ridiculous_. It was nothing but infuriating how easily he dodged his attack, though. They both rolled over and landed a few meters from each other, Gintoki crouching on the floor; Hijikata on his feet, their stances rigid and poised for fight.

“I’ll kill you,” Hijikata stated, steel and coldness wrapping the words. “One of these days, I’ll definitely kill you.” 

Gintoki watched him closely, face alive with the dark kind of elation Hijikata had come to associate with the dirtiest of events. 

_For fuck’s sake._

There was no mistaking it. 

The bastard was turned on. 

“You know what, _Toshi?_ ” Gintoki said, flashing his teeth in something that could have passed for a smile, but carried too much of a sharp edge to be anything less than a predatory promise to _eat_ him. “I’d really like to see you try.”

Hijikata stared into the Yorozuya’s intensely burning eyes. The sparkle they held touched at something at his core, like always; it was as though every little hair on his body stood on end, and his heart hammered away like a maniac in a cage too small to keep its madness, too big to smother its fire. It was becoming difficult to even breathe through it and Hijikata cursed inwardly. 

_Why do you make me feel this way?_

Every. 

Single.

Time. 

**. . .**

“Has this place got a shower?”

The tension broke with those words. Rough and abrupt as they were: to Gintoki they felt like a dream, and he watched Hijikata avert his gaze with a sense of surreal detachment.

“Yeah,” he nodded absent-mindedly in the direction of the slide doors behind them. “It’s just down the corridor to the left.”

Hijikata scowled, but followed his gaze; then wordlessly turned, slid the doors opened and exited the room. He left his jacket and katana behind. _He left his jacket and katana behind._ Gintoki let his eyes sweep over those items by the doors one extra time and exhaled slowly, shakily. There was this jittery surge of _what_ in the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t label the sensation; but it did force a hideous, unstoppable stretch to the lower part of his face. 

Yeah, he could not stop smiling. 

So what?

 _Jeez. The mighty really_ have _taken a tumble._ Okita was sort of right regarding that, at least. Gintoki let his head fall into his open palms, groaning quietly as he rocked back and forth on his heels; still smiling. He should probably address the fact that he was also semi-hard, from receiving a perfectly real death threat from the same guy he could not stop smiling about; but that was too messed up for him to wholly understand, and either way, he didn’t care. His pride as a man had been trampled over so often lately that it hardly mattered any more. 

Also, Hijikata was still around.

It would be a lie to say that Gintoki had known exactly what to do, back then, at the bar. It was just that, it had felt like the only reasonable choice of action, to drag the emergent friends apart and promptly hoist Hijikata over his shoulder -- _let’s hope he doesn’t remember about that anytime soon --_ and calling Hinowa for support had seemed very sensible at the time, too. 

A dozen or so members of the Hyakka were already around as it happened, obviously shadowing their leader out of goodwill and slight worry, perhaps; which was lucky -- seeing how numbers only had managed to subdue Tsukuyo at the sight of Gintoki. It was difficult to say whether it was the effort of the female guards or a matter of her simply passing out that had her abandoning the idea of assassinating him, in the end.

Taking the two drunkards back to the kind of place where no judgement would ever fall upon someone for having a bit too much to drink, had been a very convenient solution, Gintoki thought. They both needed to sleep it off. Hinowa had arranged for the rooms, and the care for her own top dog, without any questions -- seemingly understanding that one of them was plenty enough for Gintoki, and why? If he had a thing for stupidly handsome, volcanic-tempered cops, that was his business, and his only. An image of Hinowa’s amused smile flickered by his mind, and Gintoki flopped down to the floor again, back first, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

 _Oh, well._

Still, he wasn’t so sure that he’d done the right thing. To be honest, he had just been stumbling along the stupidly impulsive road staked out for him by fate and his own unconcerned attitude towards life in general, and as usual there was little actual thinking involved.He had chosen not to give too much thought as to why he’d reacted so strongly to Tsukuyo getting close to Hijikata, either, because it was still making him irrationally angry, and he was in no mood to revisit memories that made him feel strangely bad about himself. 

Waiting for Hijikata to wake up, he had done his very best not to overthink the consequences of his actions by indulging himself in the comforts offered by a paid room in Yoshiwara; starting by taking a long, cool shower to wash away the sticky feeling of the day. His clothes had mysteriously disappeared during the time he soaked in the baths, then miraculously reappeared clean and ironed an hour or so later. Then, he had light-heartedly been eating his way through a variety of tasty dishes, mostly of the sweet kind, offered by street vendors opening up their stands along the busy Yoshiwara streets as evening came along. 

By the time he returned to the sleeping Hijikata, he was perfectly content but for the fact that he still had no clue what to do when the moron woke up. In fact, he had spent less than ten minutes in the room, pretending to watch the television, when the cop stirred, almost as if he sensed his presence and felt uncomfortable being looked at. Because of course, that was how Gintoki had wasted his time until then. Not thinking about what he should tell Hijikata but staring at his sleeping face, avidly, getting totally fucking lost in the dreamy, nice feeling of being close to him without running the risk of the idiot storming off.

Then, Hijikata had woken up, properly, and though it’d be something of a stretch to say that everything happening between them since then had been a smooth run, that was okay. 

He was still around, after all.

Still, around.

“What are you doing looking so relaxed?” 

Gintoki must have dozed off, because he was woken quite abruptly by Hijikata’s irritated voice and the slide door being opened, unnecessarily noisy. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, opening one eye to peer at the grumpy police officer standing by the door, only a couple of steps away from him, giving off a fresh scent of shampoo and new-lit anger. His dark hair was still damp from the shower, and his clothes looked clean and tidy, the white shirt impeccably crisp and uncrumpled and the vest neatly buttoned all the way up. 

_You took your sweet time in there, then?_

“Easy, Hijikata-kun. You know you’re at risk of sudden cardiac arrest, right? In fact, you pretty much tick all the boxes in that department, Mr Getting All Angry Over Nothing. If I were you I’d be grateful I’m still breathing.” 

“Please don’t pretend you care about my well-being, fucker. Just, don’t get so damn comfortable, is all I’m saying. We’re not staying.” Hijikata said, impatiently, and Gintoki didn’t know whether to be pissed or amused at the fact he sounded just like a nagging mother, telling their child playtime’s over.

Part set for him, Gintoki figured he’d play it to perfection.

“Says who?” He raised his upper body, slightly, so that he was resting on his elbows, and gave the police officer an untroubled once-over. “I don’t see any reason to leave.”

“Says me,” Hijikata was lighting up another cigarette, looking faintly annoyed but determined, too. 

_What’s stopping you? You just want to say it so that you can shift the blame on to me when things go to the dogs, don’t you?_

“Who put that giant stick up your ass, Vice-Chief?” Gintoki lamented. “Honestly, do you really think it matters at this point? No one _knows_ you’re here, at least, no one cares--“ 

“The fuck do you know about that?” Hijikata interjected, pointing his cigarette at Gintoki. “Huh? Just because this kinda thing is commonplace for you doesn’t mean I can act as irresponsibly whenever I please. The word obligations probably means jack-shit to the likes of you, but I do have them, and I intend to stand by them.”

Gintoki scowled, feeling a familiar surge of anger. _I almost forgot what a giant fucking prick you can be. Thanks for the reminder._ He got to his feet, in a deliberately slow manner.

“Really? Then what about today?” He asked as he straightened up. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I met a man just a few hours ago who was pretty fucking distanced from his so-called obligations.”

Hijikata looked like he regretted having said something, briefly, glowering back at Gintoki. Ashes dropped to the floor from his cigarette, which burned forgotten in his hand.

“Today was an exception. Today--“ he paused. “Today was a mistake.”

“What was?” Gintoki inquired, a bit more heatedly than he had intended. The word ‘mistake’ both infuriated him and scared him.

“All of it. I shouldn’t have gone to Kabukicho to begin with, and that’s all there is to it.” Hijikata brought his cigarette back to his mouth for another drag, then repeated: “We’re not staying.”

Gintoki glared back at him. The asshole kept saying ‘we’, which eased his prior misgivings some, but he still didn’t like his tone one bit. He also didn’t like how the cop stood right there, just a couple of feet away from him, chewing him out like he normally would, and still it felt like he was farther away from him than he’d ever been.

_How do I make it so you get closer?_

“I still don’t see why not,” Gintoki folded his arms over his chest, pouting. He knew full well he was being a child about this, but to be frank that was how petulantly angry he felt with Hijikata’s unreasonable demand to leave. “We might as well stay, it’s the middle of the bloody night, it won’t matter if we go now. Also, it’s been paid for, already.”

“What’s been paid for?”

“This,” Gintoki made a perfunctory gesture at their surroundings. “It’s ours for the night.”

“What do you mean ‘ _ours_ ’, you bastard--“ Hijikata started, predictably enraged by his suggestion, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “When you say it’s been paid for, you--!!“ He swiftly turned and went to rummage his uniform jacket. “Where’s my wallet?!”

“Please be reasonable,” Gintoki gave a small grin, he was actually pretty amused at this point, holding up his hands in front of him. “I don’t have this kind of money to spend on leisure, you should know that, Hijikata-kun.”

“Reasonable, my ass! I don’t wanna hear that from you!” Hijikata rounded on him, all angry eyes and the _I warn you, Yorozuya, I’ll really get you arrested this time-_ kind of face applied.

It just set something fluttering in Gintoki’s stomach, lightly, lightly. Wings, perhaps?

_Kill me, someone. Kill me now._

Gintoki responded in a matter-of-fact voice, in opposition to the one wailing inside his head: “Besides, I figured you owe me one, seeing how I saved your ass from the drunk terminator back there.” 

“No one asked you to, dammit! Where is it?!”

“Where’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb, asshole. The wallet!”

“I don’t really remember where I put it.” 

“Liar! Give it to me!” 

Gintoki saw the raw frustration on Hijikata’s face, saw him clenching his fists while trying to decide whether to attack or leave, saw how it tore at him, and just instinctively knew that he needed to give the cop a small push in the right direction. 

“If I give it to you, will you leave?”

“Of course I will!” Hijikata barked.

_Fucking dimwit._

“Okay.” Gintoki sighed, reached inside his yukata and fished the wallet out, slowly, taking good care to be perfectly expressionless while doing so. He remained where he was, standing motionless as he offered up the small, black leather item in his outstretched hand. “Here you are.”

Hijikata stared at him for a beat, thrown. Gintoki had anticipated this reaction, this momentary confusion, yet it got to him; the uncertainty floating by Hijikata’s face as he wondered what to do. The next moment, the cop stalked up to him, all recklessness and dwindling fury; probably knowing what was going to happen and doing it anyway. 

_Because you don’t really want to leave, do you, Hijikata-kun?_

As Hijikata moved to snatch the wallet from his hand, Gintoki reached out and grabbed his wrist with his other hand. _Gods._ There was a small sensitive explosion at the touch -- _what else did I expect? --_ Gintoki felt Hijikata’s skin warm, so warm, under his fingers and he had to defy the heavy, compelling reflex to caress that wrist, instead of squeezing it. Hijikata drew for a sharp breath, and his eyes widened in alarm. Or was it gratitude? When it came to this, Gintoki could never tell with the police officer.

So, he had to ask.

“Is it so bad, the thought of spending the night with Gin-san?” He looked at the man who stood petrified in front of him with earnest intent. “Tell me honestly, did it ever cross your mind? How good it could be?”

Hijikata’s face read frustration and wariness, but there were also seeds of exasperation, and Gintoki knew that he was sick of denying it, too. But how did they go about all of this if they _weren’t_? It wasn’t like he knew, either. He just knew he really didn’t want to let go of Hijikata’s wrist. 

But he had to, right?

He released his grip tentatively, and at first Hijikata did not seem to understand, as his arm stayed frozen mid-air for a couple of more seconds; then he pulled it back quickly, as though he’d been burned, colour rising to his cheeks. Gintoki felt a twinge to his chest, sharp and unwanted, as he watched the police officer lower his head, fixing his gaze on the floor between them. It was strange, he had expected Hijikata to immediately take flight, but he wasn’t, it was almost the opposite -- if Gintoki was allowed to dream, it was like he was mustering up the courage to stay. 

No?

“What kind of stupid-ass question is that?” Hijikata’s eyes were still hidden behind a curtain of dark hair, his head ducked down low, and Gintoki was left to stare at his mouth, from where those words fell, quietly, almost a whisper. “Is there really any point in me answering?”

“To me, it is,” Gintoki said, finding himself speaking almost as quietly as the cop. “You tell me, and I’ll give you your wallet, and I promise you that’s it. You’ll be out of here. Or, you stay. If it’s all the same to you, I would prefer the latter.”

Gintoki marvelled at the force of his own heartbeats. They pounded like a heavy, erratic kind of song through his blood, making him feel nearly drunk, nervous and horribly ill at ease -- all at the same time. For all his bravado, he had never felt more vulnerable. _Why am I putting myself on the line like this, every single time?_

Then, he remembered why. 

Hijikata had raised his head to look at him, and he was closer again. Gintoki took it all in, greedily. The lovely red hue to his cheeks, the tense line between his eyebrows and that glint in his eyes; strange but familiar by now. It wasn’t the usual defiance but the troubled sort of look Gintoki had come to love on him, almost scared in the way he searched his face for answers, or reassurance, perhaps; always on the verge of bursting with some raw emotion. 

The ache to Gintoki’s chest intensified for a vibrant heartbeat; and he felt with overwhelming certainty that he was experiencing something fateful, raindrops within his soul spoke of sad times to come, and whether he wanted it or not, he glimpsed it. The part of Hijikata that was not so much the fearless Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi, but simply a demon, crying.

And he looked him dead in the eye.

“Of course it has crossed my mind, idiot,” Hijikata said, and Gintoki got close to him in one fluid motion.

It felt so easy, letting his arms encircle that strong back hunching in surrender. So natural, to bury his nose in the space between his neck and shoulder, just above the collar of his shirt. So good, to breath in his warm, clean smell.

And Hijikata let him.

**. . .**

  
tbc.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to add one more chapter + an epilogue to this 💛 /not ready to say goodbye


	11. When In Yoshiwara

Hijikata didn’t want to talk anymore. 

In fact, he was sick of words; the way they twisted and formed into useless lines and lies he could never take back, the way they carelessly spilled past Gintoki’s lips with a destructive power rivalling that of Sougo’s bazooka. Leaning into the Yorozuya’s solid, warm embrace, he hid from them, from the risk of shattering; even as he felt the shadows gathering behind his eyelids, encouraged by the sudden act of fragility. He hated the shudders dragging through his shoulders. He wasn’t gonna _cry._ Squeezing his eyes shut around the salty hotness threatening to overflow, Hijikata held on tight to the other man’s yukata, and swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

_I’m not._

He was grateful to Gintoki for not commenting on it. For once, he was being tactfully quiet, too, merely holding him while nuzzling at his neck, seemingly content with just smelling him for the moment. _You big idiot._ Hijikata felt the magnetic pull, the physical closeness had the expected effect on his body, the overwhelming need to be closer manifested itself like a flow of warmth through his veins. Still, part of his brain was sapient enough to perceive the fact that he was pretty much standing on the precipice of temptation, and if he gave in now, he’d never be able to undo it.

_What does it matter? At this point, really, what does it matter?_

It was exactly what the Yorozuya would tell him. Hijikata sighed, shakily, resting his forehead against Gintoki’s shoulder, he stalled the forbidden sobs by sheer force of will. The other urge, he could not stop, and either way, it didn’t matter since the Yorozuya _had_ asked him to stay, and how was he to fight that kind of sincerity? He couldn’t. He’d admitted to having thought about it which was honestly just as bad as saying he wanted it. 

Hijikata inhaled the addictive warmth of the embrace one last time, then shifted; knowing and fearing and longing for the outcome. _Dammit._ He instantly found Gintoki’s lips pressed against his; and the spark between them flared in response to the act, like it had just been waiting for his permission to burn hot, and uncontrollable.The kiss was soft at first, but soon turned deep and impatient because that was the way Gintoki kissed, and what happened every time they crossed this particular line.

In this, Hijikata never needed to doubt the Yorozuya’s intentions. The bastard was all cheerful, non-complicated compliance with a generous sprinkle of rapacity, and Hijikata realised, in the haze of tongue meeting tongue and teeth grazing lips; that he really appreciated that part of Gintoki. While the man himself was an enigma, too complex by far in most aspects -- he was the very definition of simplicity when it came to this physical bit.

Like always, he made it feel easy to touch and be touched, and everything outside of their sphere, outside the storm brewing up between them, to seem small and meaningless. _Let’s not dwell on the fact nothing’s gonna be fucking easy about this later, eh?_ The voice in the back of his head sounded thoroughly amused, but also far away, and Hijikata didn’t want to listen. It was becoming a pattern with the Yorozuya, and he felt like one more life-threatening addiction wouldn’t kill him. And even if it _did_ kill him, he’d probably allow the embodiment of his misery to kiss the pain away for a little while, anyway.

Yes.

_You've fucked me up beyond repair._

While the kisses were moving into a territory of new intensity; Gintoki’s hands moved over his back, along the back of his arms and shoulders, down the small of his back, pressing in close enough for Hijikata to feel the telltale hardness between them, even through the layers of clothing. No embarrassment involved there. Hijikata felt like smiling, realised he was blinking away tears, then groaned as Gintoki moved on to his neck; kissing it slowly while murmuring into his skin: 

“Well, then. Let’s stay and enjoy ourselves, shall we, Toushirou?” 

It did not piss Hijikata off like it should. On the contrary -- the suggestion, the drop in Gintoki’s tone, and the casual use of his first name, sent a different kind of shuddering heat coursing through his veins; he was practically straining against the inside of his uniform trousers.

“Go to hell, Yorozuya,” raspy need cracking through his voice accompanied by the reflexive grinding motion of his hips just had to suffice as a reply, if a disgraceful one -- Gintoki could probably tell that was a yes, anyway.

He could. He always could. There was a deep groan from the silver haired samurai, muffled into the space where Hijikata’s neck met his shoulder, then Gintoki moved his hands lower, letting them slide along the small of his back and over his buttocks, giving them a firm squeeze while insolently pressing their crotches together, closer still. Hijikata shivered hot and desperate at the contact, making a distant note of how the anger he should be feeling at being touched this way was still conspicuous by its absence, shadowed by the reluctant admittance that Gintoki’s goddamn hands set him off like nothing else.

Why, everything about the Yorozuya’s touch was unwaveringly confident; almost casually sensual, like he’d never done anything else and _what about it?_ Hijikata scoffed inwardly. While he himself was by no means a virgin, he was not what you’d call an experienced lover, either. Sure, there had been Mitsuba a long time ago; but their love had been in all senses platonic, starting and ending in heartache and that had been it.

The physical sort of love he’d first experienced in Edo; during his first years with the new-formed Roshigumi there had been a string of lovers, most of whom he’d been seeing out of a misguided sense of duty, probably. In hindsight, he could see clearly that he’d never been properly invested, but somehow, the girls had kept coming, in spite of a lack of effort and spirit on his part. Even then, the sex had been unemotional, a bit on the boring side, probably -- or so he had gathered from the comments he’d received afterwards.

 _“Don’t get me wrong, Hijikata-san! It’s not like it was bad or anything. I just felt like I lost you there for a while. I wonder, where do you go when you don’t see me anymore?”_

Or,

_“You’re all work and no play, Vice-Chief. Nothing’s special to you outside your job and I can’t compete with that.”_

Or, his personal favourite:

 _“You really_ are _just a pretty face, aren’t you?”_

Their mild disappointment could never compare to his own, however, as he’d walked away from every one of these shallow connections, feeling a little bit more empty for each time. He had missed Mitsuba then, visiting her in his head, then by her grave, too often and against better judgement; finding comfort in the resignation and knowledge that he was fated to love a ghost for all eternity. 

That could have been the bittersweet end to it all -- had not another ghost made its slapdash appearance in his life. 

A living ghost, if the legends involving the White Yaksha held an ounce of truth; and he was still very much haunting him. _You don’t have any complaints, do you?_ Haunting him, and craving his attention, in all ways possible, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. In the end, Gintoki was like no other, and Hijikata recognised that it made the heat smouldering between them dangerous on a completely different level. It was ironic, really, come to think of it. He and the Yorozuya usually mixed like oil and water, except when facing a common enemy -- fighting together they would reach downright ridiculous levels of compatibility -- but they had never really addressed that phenomena. That strange interlacing between them could apparently also be applied to _this_ , and Hijikata understood by now that once caught up in the blazing heat, it really wasn’t worth fighting.

It had to be like this.

Hijikata felt their fire, the flames tangible like a boiling pressure in his veins, licking hotly at his insides; urging him to reach up and grab Gintoki’s neck, running one hand through uncontrollable silver curls, not able to refrain from giving them a rather hard tug which earned him a throaty “ _fuck”_ from the other man. So, the Yorozuya liked that. Hijikata could tell without being an expert, and he also seemed to like the fact that he was in his uniform -- a lot. Judging by the way Gintoki’s hands moved warm and eager on him; fingering at the hem of his vest, sliding over his ass, rubbing along the pulled-taut fabric at the front of his trousers, like he couldn’t really believe his luck -- he didn’t mind that he was dressed for work one bit.

And Hijikata, although loath to admit it, sort of enjoyed it, too. Granted, he was a little uncomfortable, physically speaking, and a little horrified at the fact that he clearly should _not_ be doing this kind of thing in his work attire; ultimately, it only added fuel to the fire wanting to engulf them. Gintoki’s mouth was hot against the sensitive skin at his neck, nibbling some, kissing some, tearing playfully at his cravat with his teeth, briefly; before deciding that clothes were too much of a bother, after all. He simply tore the cravat off, then went for his vest, quickly unbuttoning it one-handed -- _why’re you so fucking nimble come to this?_ \-- and scaling it off Hijikata’s shoulders, before focusing on the shirt buttons. If there was some left-over shame connected with being undressed, Hijikata covered it up by tugging at Gintoki’s yukata, forcing him to shrug the top part off, then jerking impatiently at the obi, which had Gintoki breath a laugh over his ear, darkly amused and hot. 

“Easy, Toushirou,” he drawled. “If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you were really into this.”

He withdrew a little to study Hijikata’s face in a way that had the latter automatically ducking his head, escaping the scrutiny behind the darkness of hair falling down his forehead.

“Shut the hell up,” Hijikata growled, the words tumbling out instant and rough-edged, more out of habit than irritation, but he continued anyway, once he was sure his voice carried. “And don’t use my first name like that, it’s disgusting.”

It absolutely wasn’t. The insincerity was tasting strangely bitter on his tongue, which shouldn’t matter since Gintoki didn’t believe a word of it, anyway. He could tell from the way the Yorozuya was watching him, once he glanced up at the silver haired man through his lashes; the amusement fell heavy in those red eyes and along the line of his mouth, and it was enough to flush Hijikata with a new wave of heat.

“I won’t stop just because you’re telling me to, you know,” Gintoki said, a lilt to his tone that usually set Hijikata off on irritation but presently only grated against already exposed nerves in an absent, almost pleasurable, way. “That’d be boring. Besides, I like it. I like saying your name, so I will,” he went on casually, the undertone revealing a slight purr that curled hotly against Hijikata’s ears. “That said, there’s nothing you can do about it, _Toushirou,_ so you might as well just roll with it.”

Hijikata knew he ought to hate how Gintoki stated that with such detached finality. Truly, _despise it,_ how his maddening “I’ll do whatever I want, so deal with it”-attitude had a reverse kind of affect on him; he felt warm but not because he was angry, and _that_ was troubling. He had to move on the impulse to fight, or more precisely, sink his teeth into the Yorozuya’s lower lip, biting down hard enough for the skin to break and the taste of copper to spill over on his mouth, red and hot and frighteningly gratifying.

“The _hell_ are you doing?” Gintoki winced but pulled him in closer all the same, whether it was by will or reflex, Hijikata could not tell but it gave him the opportunity to cover his flushed cheeks against the other’s shoulder, and mutter against the fabric of his black shirt, a low rumble of words that lacked the edge of real anger.

“I _told you_ to shut up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well. Lucky for you, Gin-san’s trying to be chivalrous here, so I won’t bite you back,” Gintoki complained half-heartedly, and Hijikata felt the motion of him tilting his head back in, speaking close to his ear: “Unless that's what you want, of course.” 

The Yorozuya added that last bit as an off-hand afterthought, Hijikata suspected, but the unspoken truth within those words hit him straight in the chest like a well-pointed arrow and he could not stop the strangled little gasp breaking free from his throat, could not fully navigate through the pause that followed because of his heart’s frantic pounding, the incessant ringing in his ears. Gintoki went still at this. In the quietude, their uneven breaths were too-audible, their hearts racing panicky-fast on unnamed excitement, heavy enough to seem touchable in the space between them. 

Hijikata closed his eyes.

“ _Unless,”_ Gintoki repeated, slowly, taking a step back to push at Hijikata’s chest, a sudden resolution at the tips of his fingers. A kind of firmness that shuddered heat along Hijikata’s spine and brought a taste of adrenaline to his mouth. “Unless, that’s what you _want_ .” Gintoki finished, the intonation erasing the question, voice breathing dark exhilaration and Hijikata had to raise his head and look at him, he was compelled to, could not stand _not_ to. 

_Fuck._

The warm, reddish light of the lanterns spilled over the Yorozuya’s broad shoulders, and although his face had fallen into shadow, the heat; radiating from his eyes, brushing past slightly parted lips and creasing into a faint trace of a frown across his brow -- was impossible to miss. It was all for Hijikata, the heavy want and the dark edge of determination, too, and watching the beginning of a grin curving and catching at the corners of Gintoki’s blood-stained lips, Hijikata felt another violent shiver run down his spine; heartbeats skidding away in a rush of nervousness.

“Unbelievable,” Gintoki shook his head, voice hoarse around anger or amusement or arousal, it was hard to tell which, but Hijikata was suddenly very grateful for the dim light in the room, for the faint cover it provided as the self-consciousness came washing over him along with a new wave of irrepressible heat. Under the pressure of Gintoki’s gaze, he found himself wanting, _waiting,_ indefinitely, for more, roughness perhaps, anything to guide him through the desperation and mortification; a bruise, a stomp to his heart, a command. His cock was throbbing against the confinement of his trousers, his skin burning with embarrassment at being called out and he didn’t have to say anything.

“Goddamnit, you _idiot,_ ” Gintoki reached for his cheeks, cupping his face almost gently within his hands for a beat, before moving in closer. “Did you seriously think I would _object_?” He breathed resigned warmth over Hijikata’s lips, and there was a bit of pressure to his touch; fingers closing against his chin, and voice dropping soft and dark. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

_Oh, God._

**. . .**

That look on Hijikata, that silent plea within his eyes; it just flipped Gintoki’s switch. The pull of instincts told him what he needed to do, and in the end, the only thing he _could_ do; which was to heed that unspoken wish written all over the Vice-Chief’s face. 

In any case, there was no stopping the force of _them_ at this point. They moved on adrenaline and the taste of blood, and they were out of their clothes, somehow, down on the futon, rolling around in a flurry of urgent movements, the irrepressible need to be closer soaring high and unrestrained between their bodies. Still kissing, still touching, almost fighting; Gintoki was well aware that he was being too rough, close to violent in his need, but with Hijikata, he couldn’t hold back. Not that he needed to. No matter how hard he pushed at the cop, no matter how fiercely he forced him down under his own body; Hijikata was replying in kind. Like always, the cop was resisting him, his body strong and unbreakable as he struggled against Gintoki’s touch; and still, asking him to fight him harder with each reflexive movement of his hips, with each guttural moan breaking free from his throat, relentlessly adding to their ache for more.

More tearing sharpness of teeth breaking skin. More bruising fingerprints. More fists on handfuls of hair, pulling too hard. More flushed hardness rubbing together. 

It was almost too much; the shivers running along his spine at the friction between them threatened to drive Gintoki straight over the edge, and he didn’t want to let go of the building tension just yet. For hazy reasons he could not explain, he wanted to focus on Hijikata before he’d allow himself to indulge in the carnal pleasure skimming the outskirts of his consciousness, wanting to take control of his body and mind. _Not yet._ This was, in many aspects, a first for both of them, and he intended to do it right. 

_I_ do _have the makings of a shoujo male lead, don’t I?_

There had been others; Gintoki had been around, no need to sugarcoat stuff -- but with Hijikata, everything felt new regardless. New, and fragile and dangerous, all at once. All things they did felt like a first and it was frustrating really, if intoxicating, how the cop had him behaving like a bloody teenager in heat most of the time, unsure of how to carry himself, struggling with words in a way he’d never before even considered, or thought of as a problem. You just _talked,_ right?

Not with Hijikata. 

What Gintoki had belatedly recognised as an inconvenient crush on the Shinsengumi Vice-Commander, had grown out of scale because there was a great fucking deal more to it than simple infatuation, wasn’t it? Why else would he be feeling this hot with want and _affection_ ; so stupidly ready to fall from grace at a single word dropping from the cop’s lips? It was pathetic to think that one look from Hijikata was enough to unsettle him, but then _again,_ that shouldn’t matter since he had already buried his role as a protagonist many times over already, right? At this point, Gintoki was pretty much ready to hand in his application for a genre switch, at least. 

_(Or does this classify as action?)_

Luckily, Yoshiwara was the kind of place where you could find all things necessary for making the first time as comfortable as possible. So to speak. A bottle of lube was conveniently placed in the drawer of a small table beside the futon, and if Gintoki had been secretly worried about doing it wrong, those concerns were quickly fading away in the midst of the experience.

Somehow, his hands seemed to know exactly what to do; and though his head was still reeling on the edge of distraction, he’d never felt more aware on a physical level. Relying on deep-rooted instincts, he shifted so that his weight was transferred to his legs and the arm placed next to Hijikata’s head, leaving the other hand the freedom of travel. The heat flowed from the tips of his fingers as they moved along Hijikata’s body, over and past and inside; touching at places he thought he’d never be allowed, and setting them both aflame with the suggestive promise of lube-slick fingers curling and stretching, lightly at first, impatient after a while.

And Hijikata. _Hijikata._ He really was the most sensual thing to watch. Gintoki could not stop looking. Truth be told, the cop was embodying every single one of his night time fantasies at this moment. Habitually unaware of his own appeal, he was moving helplessly against Gintoki’s touch in spite of the self-conscious red colouring his cheeks, and Gintoki was feeding on the sight of his body tensing under his; on every delicate angle of bones, every line of hard muscle, every patch of flushed skin. Sweat was assembling at his brow, tiny drops pearling over his trademark frown, which was floating in and out of focus, like it was hard to hold on to as Gintoki moved his fingers inside him, and his breaths came out ragged and heavy, broken sometimes by small moans; causing Gintoki to break a sweat, too.

“God, you’re _hot,_ ” Gintoki opened his mouth around the words on impulse, because it was the only thing he could presently think.

Hijikata draped an arm over his face, shielding it from view.

“Pervert,” he mumbled, voice heavy on embarrassed heat. “You don’t _have_ to look all the time, you know.”

“But I do,” Gintoki insisted, heart giving a little jolt inside his ribcage, like it wanted to warn him. _I need to make sure I never forget about this._ “I don’t want to miss the part when you ask me to fuck you.”

“Why would I -- aahn!” Hijikata’s protest came out half a strangled whimper as Gintoki pushed his fingers deeper, brushing up against a spot that had the cop arching his back off the futon, arm falling away. “That’s too, hnnn -- _shut up._ ”

The instant reaction sent a shock of indomitable need rushing through Gintoki; a wave of warmth shivering along the length of his cock at the prospect of moving it inside the cop, instead of his fingers. He felt it like Hijikata’s want was somehow transmitted to him, through the heat tightening around his touch, through Hijikata’s cock pressing hard and hot against his hip; and he was surprised at the strong urge to just go down and wrap his lips around it properly, to taste the hot saltiness against the back of his throat again. 

That had to wait, though.

“ _Are_ you gonna say it?” He breathed, unable to stop himself from taking it too far, as per usual. He slowed the movements of his hand, too, leaving his fingers to idly stroke and tease in a way he knew must be torturous and which of course had Hijikata glowering at him; sharp and frustrated.

“I’m _not,_ ” was what he said, or growled, more like, and Gintoki was too slow on the uptake, too fuzzy-headed by desire, to perceive the sudden movement. Before he knew it, Hijikata had snaked his hand in between them, closing his fist tightly around his straining erection. “You’re really pissing me off,” Hijikata’s voice was a low snarl, a warning, the deepness of it setting Gintoki off almost as much as that hand on him, the suggestion of a stroking movement prickling his skin. 

“I do? I thought I --“ Gintoki paused, trying hard not to grind into that hand and lose control completely. “-- I thought I was _seducing_ you. Seeing how my wit and suave charm have worked so far, I’m doing pretty well, no?”

“Tch. What makes you think you have the time to be fucking wordy about this?” Hijikata breathed, mouth just next to his ear, emphasizing the last bit by dragging a thumb along the length of his cock, smearing out the precum over the tip in a slow circle of just-enough, maddening pressure, and Gintoki felt the danger of coming like that washing over him, and he shuddered out an involuntary moan.

_There’s no way you’ll ever offer me total surrender, is it?_

The realisation poured rippling, startling arousal through his body and he cursed, a throaty: “for _fuck’s_ sake” tumbling out of his mouth, before he moved back in for a kiss, hard and urgent. Hijikata let him, and without releasing his grip, he shifted; and guided Gintoki firmly towards that place where his fingers had just been, breaking the kiss to tell him:

“I’m no doll, Yorozuya. Just fucking do it already.”

Gintoki exhaled sharply -- and did as he was told. There was a bit of fumbling with the bottle of lube, some awkward shifting about and curses falling strained and rushed; and it would be a lie to say that he entered Hijikata all smooth and skilled, hell, it was the first time he’d done anything of the sort with a guy, but it sure was _something else._

For a beat, they both held still. Gintoki, halfway inside and trembling with the effort of not pushing in all at once; Hijikata, gritting his teeth and tensing up in reflex at the intrusion. Even with the aid of lube and preparation, it was impossibly tight, and Gintoki’s head was spinning in slight vertigo as he felt the delicious warmth closing around him.

“What are you waiting for -- _dammit,”_ Hijikata cursed, clutching hard at his shoulders, doing his best to hide his obvious discomfort behind a scowl as he looked up at Gintoki with eyes brimming with angry need. “Better days?”

_Like there’ll ever be a better day than this._

That thought was too embarrassing to voice, and Gintoki fell back on a casual, if extremely strained, line of complaints.

“Damn, you’re high maintenance, Vice-Chief. Gin-san hasn’t got it easy, you know that, _ahn…_ right?” he adjusted his hips slightly so that he could press in a little deeper, concentrating on not going crazy with the need to just _move_ already. “I’m trying to make this nice for the both of us.”

“I don’t want... hnnn,” Hijikata’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “... _Nice._ You idiot. If I’d wanted that...” he paused, and Gintoki could feel him making an effort at relaxing, saw him creasing his brow in concentration -- and still the bastard managed an insult through clenched teeth: “...I wouldn’t be with _you,_ would I?”

Gintoki breathed a throaty laugh. 

“You’re saying Gin-san’s not nice?”

More importantly. 

_You’re saying you’re_ with _me?_

“I’m saying you’re the… ah, hnn -- the worst.”

“You’re wounding me, Toshi. I thought you said you really liked me.”

“I never said --” Hijikata shuddered, but Gintoki could feel the tightness around him easing, ever so slightly, and the rest of the cop’s half-baked objection was drowned out by a choked out moan and Gintoki’s own voice; a drawn-out groan of mindless pleasure as he slid all the way inside, burying himself to the hilt.

_You did._

**. . .**

Hijikata gasped for air and sanity. The pain was real, but the tingling pleasure was, too; and as the initial shockwaves of unbearable tension were ebbing away, he was left teetering between the two. One moment he wanted nothing but to pull away, the next, he couldn’t wait to be closer. Was that even possible? Gintoki was right there, _inside_ him, for God’s sake, being by no means small or in the least bit gracious about it, but that somehow made things a little easier to cope with. Even as the Yorozuya started to move: settling with a deliberately slow, inevitably rough, movement back and forth, Hijikata found he still _wanted_ the tearing pressure -- at the same time intolerable and delectable.

Had he always wanted this? The way his body reacted, in spite of the novelty of the act itself, would be a testament in its own shameful right. He felt on the verge of cumming, despite the deep ache inside, or more likely because of it, his cock strained hard between their bodies, the unfamiliar feeling of being entered undeniably pouring mindless arousal just there, and he could not look at Gintoki for the fear of losing it right away, and that -- would be too much of a humiliation. 

Then again, he couldn’t imagine ever letting anyone else do this to him. In fact, they’d probably be dead even before they’d touched him; and a hazy part of his consciousness singled out the Yorozuya as the sole, disgraceful exception. According to their routine, Gintok managed to wriggle himself under a new layer of skin and inhibitions, in some strange, unforeseen way, and Hijikata, as per usual, could do nothing to stop him.

_I really should have arrested you, ages ago._

Nor could he stop the slow pressure building at the feeling of Gintoki’s cock sliding in and out of him, a bit less controlled at each thrust, at the warm rumble of muffled sounds against his skin as the Yorozuya panted and cussed, at the overwhelming smell of him, flooding Hijikata’s senses with each shaky intake of air, earth laced with fresh sweat and, of course, strawberries. He kept his eyes shut because he wasn’t sure he could take the sight of Gintoki looking down on him, but he could imagine, and the thought was enough to send his mind spiralling, the heat pooling--

“Look at me,” Gintoki demanded, voice impossibly low and rough around the edges, and Hijikata had no defensive power left. So, he stared into dark red, the fervency of the gaze trailing shameful flames over his skin. 

_Don’t._

Gintoki was always looking at him, without a trace of fear, sometimes indifferently, sometimes implicitly mocking, more often as of late; intensely longing. His mouth was open on a series of heavy breaths, quirking up just a bit at one corner, painting the shadows of a grin across his face, a sheen of sweat to his skin plastering silver locks across his forehead, also adding to the lustrous warmth about his person; the warmth that Hijikata could not escape.

Because no matter how he looked at it, no matter how freespoken Gintoki was about wanting him, Hijikata also perceived unadulterated fondness in those frank eyes, and it should scare him more than anything else, really, but it just didn’t. It kept him looking at Gintoki incredulously, heartbeats skipping away on something horribly similar to happiness, and in the end, it was more than he could stand. He felt hateful wetness prickle at the corners of his eyes once again and had to look away, a hot flush of embarrassment blossoming up his neck, and Gintoki slowed his movements somewhat, offering up a husky, cautious:

“Are you--”

“Don’t stop,” Hijikata cut him off. “Just. Don’t.”

Gintoki didn’t say anything else. He simply picked up in pace, and Hijikata released a breath, bracing himself against the movement. _Thank you._ He held onto the Yorozuya bruisingly hard, probably, but that wouldn’t matter. Gintoki was strong, stronger than anyone he’d ever met, and burying his face in his shoulder Hijikata allowed himself to drown in the sensation of being filled up; so much easier to understand than the hot trails of salt on his cheeks. Once again, he ached for Gintoki to be closer, though he knew it was pretty much physically impossible; he hooked his legs around the silver haired man’s waist as he moved faster, more intently, and, perhaps accidentally, hit that spot inside Hijikata again.

” _Gintoki...”_

The name tasted like heat on his tongue. The sound of Gintoki half-groaning, half-whimpering in response was a stab of warmth to the centre of his being, and the new angle of his thrusts rose a fast-coming sense of gratification to his senses; Hijikata could feel his mind starting to blank out. It had been too far a ride on the edge of oblivion, and a couple of frantic thrusts just _there_ and the deepness of Gintoki’s voice: ” _F_ _uck, Toushirou...”_ , finally drove him straight into shuddering, aching bliss. Distantly aware that the Yorozuya hadn’t even been touching him, Hijikata came hard, and if he was moaning, repeating the idiot’s name while his semen sprayed hotly between their moving bodies, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. 

_Gintoki._

The climax wiped his mind temporarily clean of everything but _him,_ the awareness of tears and should-nots stuffed somewhere far back his consciousness, and he was left savouring the physical sensation of Gintoki holding him. He was moving a bit slower as Hijikata clenched around him, physically preoccupied with nothing but the sweet taste of release; but it was just for a short while. In the end, Hijikata could feel it in the tremble coursing through the Yorozuya’s body, through the tensing of muscles under sweat-slick skin; Gintoki was losing control. For a couple of moments, his hips thrusted away erratically, too hard, perfectly so, and suddenly, with a long, shuddering groan, he was filling Hijikata up with a warmth he hadn’t known he wanted; but which felt just right. 

Just right.

Hijikata knew he had lost, a distant voice telling him that this time, he’d allowed himself to fall all the way; and from this, there was no recovering. This feeling, of Gintoki, still on top of him, still buried deep inside around the ache and remnants of tingling arousal, the heaviness of his entire body draped along his, he would never be rid off. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It scared him, admittedly, but he was pretty sure that it was something other than fear that kept his heart beating hard and fast, at the feel of closeness, at the whisper of surrender, and the memory of Gintoki’s warm gaze through a veil of sadness.

He could probably fall asleep like this.

**. . .**


	12. Epilogue Pt 1 : Gintoki

_1\. Gintoki_ **  
  
. . .**

When Gintoki wakes up, Hijikata is still asleep. On his back, naked and nestled among messy sheets, his chest is rising on even, deep breaths, gusting past slightly parted lips to warm the skin at Gintoki’s shoulder, like an assuasive touch to his racing heart. There is no room to think about what it would feel like to wake up without his breaths. 

There is only him, there, sleeping.

He’s beautiful like that. Gintoki’s the biggest sap for thinking it, for looking, but he’s made peace with the fact that’s how things are with him and the cop by now, so he might as well. He has watched Hijikata’s sleeping face before, but now it’s different; perhaps, because they’re together. Because Gintoki’s bare skin is tangled amongst the same sheets, against the same memories of senseless lust and half-said truths; it’s very different. 

Gintoki raises his upper body from the futon, only slightly, just to get a better look. Too see more clearly the darkness of lashes resting peacefully against pale skin, the relaxed line of a mouth that normally carries the strain of irritation, always; and the faint trace of pulsation rising under the skin at a spot just under his chin, at a pace much quicker than Gintoki would have imagined. 

It’s almost matching his own.

He’s sure, if he were to place his mouth against Hijikata’s skin now, he’d taste the salt of last night’s tears. There’s something so tender about Hijikata’s sleeping face, Gintoki has to swallow against a sudden tightness in his throat, stemming from a knot in his chest. It’s almost like he wants to cry, too. Because of the pain; through the smoke of past experiences circulating Hijikata’s person, Gintoki perceives it all too clearly, at once foreign and familiar. He can’t tell if it’s sorrow or an overwhelming need to protect the man sleeping innocently next to him, but he wants to kill anyone who makes Hijikata cry, ever again.

Or.

He wants Hijikata’s tears all to himself and he’s an absolute asshole for wanting it. But he does. Gintoki releases a breath around that small, dirty admission, and blinks away what could have been more agony. He puts his focus elsewhere, on reality, back on the sleeping Hijikata, so unbearably human. The cop’s breathing, just like everyone else. He has arms, legs, fingers and toes -- just like anyone. 

He has a navel.

Gintoki looks at it for a long time. It’s only just visible above the sheets twirled around his midsection, but it’s presently all he sees. He’s never given much thought to the existence of navels. Now he does. Everyone’s born with one, of course, so why would the, utterly unsurprising, fact that Hijikata Toushirou has one, give him pause?

Maybe, because it’s there, all unassuming and soft, under those layers of pride, code and routines. A uniform clothing the Vice-Chief in all senses, impeccable and disciplined in the eyes of the world, occasionally revealing flashes of deathly danger; blood so darkly red and deeply ingrained in fabric and skin it’ll never wash out. The glimpses of fragility beyond all of that, Gintoki feels it all lies within the existence of that little dip in Hijikata’s skin, that hollowed scar at the centre of hardened, flatly defined muscles and strength.

A part of Gintoki wants to kiss it now.

Yes, it practically deserves a kiss, like really, really -- it needs it. 

The impulse takes root, like an irrepressible rush of heat through his veins forcing him to move, and he does it. Hijikata’s skin is warm against his mouth, and it smells like earth and soap and sex. Gintoki wants to kiss not only his navel now, but the whole of him; every little part of his gorgeous body. The thought suddenly burns in his chest. 

He can’t stop. 

. . .  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happened: my epilogue grew teeth. I’m dividing it into three parts, each one of our morons + a guest will have their say before the end, hopefully :’) it’s mostly written out so it won’t be long before it’s all up. Thank you guys for staying with me all this time ♥️


	13. Epilogue Pt 2: Hijikata

_2\. Hijikata_

**. . .**

Hijikata wakes up engulfed in flames. 

For a fluttering little moment, he’s just burning, unable to pinpoint the origins of the heat, then his mind takes him straight there; reeling a little at the realisation that Gintoki’s mouth is _on_ him. 

On him, around him, along him.

There’s no room to think, and he is grateful to Gintoki for that, supposedly. Caught up in the rush of obliterating arousal that comes with his physical predicament, Hijikata doesn’t have to pay any attention to anything but _this;_ his cock in Gintoki’s hot mouth. He’s free to squeeze his eyes shut and indulge in the part of their relationship that he understands the best, or more frankly put: the only part he understands. Gintoki’s touch is a reminder of the previous night and there’s a certain ache to his back, too, bringing about the shameful, delightful reality of those events to his slowly awakening mind.

In the end, it has him coming, twice. One time with Gintoki’s lips wrapped around his cock; back arching and sheets sliding off, a stream of curses mingled with the moron’s goddamn name, spilling from his lips at the force of release again, like _him_ is all there is. A second time, with Gintoki buried deep inside, filling the space left achingly empty from last night, once more. Hijikata doesn’t understand, but his body convulses around the Yorozuya’s cock, clenches and tenses up, there is pain but he never wants him to stop, and the way he comes hard and desperate around Gintoki’s frantic thrusts is intense enough for him to willingly dispose of whatever sanity he had left.

Afterward, he wants a smoke. As the Yorozuya lays panting and mumbling about how absolutely fucking amazing that was, Hijikata sits up among the messy sheets and reaches for a much needed cigarette. Because of what they’ve done, again, he craves nicotine, and the taste of comfort, of familiarity. He doesn’t have the courage to think that anything about Gintoki’s warmth could ever feel familiar.

And still, Hijikata smokes in a tranquil haze of distraction. He doesn’t feel the restless need to move, nor the fear of staying, at the moment. He’s not aware, but his shoulders are slumped with relaxation in a way they haven’t been for weeks. Beside him, there’s a stir of movement and a sigh, deep on sleepy contentment as Gintoki rolls around on the futon, snuggling up with his back turned to him. Hijikata slants him a sideway glance; would-be irritation dissipating at the sight of that beautifully muscled back, those broad shoulders. 

Hijikata has sworn, somewhere along the bumpy road with the Yorozuya, that he’d never be one of the people relying on Gintoki’s unwavering strength and ineluctable silver light. He’s not gonna place the weight of his happiness on the shoulders of someone who, despite all his flaws and general uselessness, already carries the hope of half of Edo around. Hijikata’s not the type to rely on others. Period. 

And yet. Yet, there’s this subdued pang of fondness spreading warmth at the centre of his chest as he watches silver curls, dark at the roots and matted with sweat from their morning practices, plaster against the pale skin at the nape of his neck. Hijikata unthinkingly moves his hand there, twirling a damp strand of hair between his fingers, and, before his mind takes back control of his movements; moves his hand slowly lower, along Gintoki’s neck and down between his shoulder blades.

It feels weirdly natural, and Gintoki doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He’s shifting, but it’s only to allow him better access, and under an unsteady intake of air, Hijikata allows the touch to turn into a caress. He dares, he guesses, in the face of Gintoki’s bravery; he can momentarily be reckless, too. For this, he’s rewarded with the feel of Gintoki’s warm back, soft skin stretching over the wide expanse of hardened muscle, and so many scars. More than Hijikata’s own, even, and that’s saying something.

There’s a light flutter to Hijikata’s chest as he traces those scars; some tiny, faded white lines hardly felt beneath his touch, some more visible and faintly red, unevenly smooth under his fingers. He can’t help but wonder how the Yorozuya has gotten them all. They paint a gruesome, sorrowful kind of story across his back of which Hijikata knows nothing, and he’s not sure if it makes him annoyed or sad, but he does, surprisingly, recognise curiosity.

He wants to know, and at the same time, he really doesn’t. What would he do with such knowledge? Is he worthy of it, at all? Hijikata touches a particularly deep gush across the length of Gintoki’s back, and he feels a shiver under his fingers, a prickle to the skin; trailing uneasy heat to his cheeks and speed to his pulse. It’s not spelled out, but he has the sudden, certain feeling that he’s doing something forbidden, and that he’s miraculously being allowed to, for this little heartbeat of his existence. He should probably withdraw his hand, but he really can’t, is too mesmerised by the map of scars, locked in place by the air turning dense and too heavy to breath through, the way Gintoki’s shoulders tense up--

It’s almost a relief to have the Yorozuya turn and brush him off. Hijikata glimpses something dark whirling past red eyes, but it’s a passing shadow, easy to forget as Gintoki pulls him down on the futon again. His voice is deep, lips moving on playful insinuations against Hijikata’s ear: 

“You can’t have enough of Gin-san, can you?”

**. . .**


	14. Epilogue Pt 3: Zura/ko

_3: Zura/ko_

**. . .**

To be perfectly honest, being on standby for the better part of fourteen chapters isn’t all that interesting. Katsura should be used to it by now; he is tenaciously patient by nature, and seeing how he’s a crucial character in the great scheme of things, he usually takes comfort in the knowledge that he always gets some screen time, eventually -- even if it’s only for comic relief.

And still, it seems that, in certain stories, there’s just no place for him. Although he’s been doing his very best, tailing Gintoki whenever he’s gotten the chance, sneaking around cabaret clubs and bathhouses and even the Shinsengumi headquarters, in the hopes of making an appearance, or at least get a _mention,_ at some point, none of his efforts have paid off. 

It’s like there is too much going on between Gintoki and the Shinsengumi Vice-Chief. They are an incessant storm of feelings; sweeping up all the air and words in their yearning for each other -- leaving little room for anything apart from their, frankly put; unnecessarily complicated, love story.

In fact, Katsura has almost accepted it being so. This early morning he’s doing an undercover job in Yoshiwara in the disguise of Zurako, almost forgetting that he’s also on standby; and is actually surprised to notice it’s his time to shine. Finally! He’s walking along a dimly lit corridor, on the way to another room -- containing a very important, very unsuspecting Bakufu official -- when he hears the angry voice of the Vice-Chief and Gintoki’s monotone through the shoji.

“There’s no money in it!”

There’s the sound of something hitting the floor with a soft thud.

“No? I’m sure I left a couple of hundred yen…” 

“Well, you _didn’t!_ In any case, why would I care about a couple of hundred yen, where’s the rest?”

“The rest, the rest, let me see… I don’t _know._ Does it matter? Shouldn’t you be grateful to Gin-san who responsibly stepped in as your fiduciary during your little episode of debauchery?”

Katsura stops in his tracks, considering the noise. So, they bicker. What else is new. Being where they are; they have most likely spent the night together. _That,_ he guesses, _is_ new. No wonder they‘re all over the place, grasping for the ring of normalcy. 

Sighing, Katsura crosses his arms over his chest. 

He’s rather the phlegmatical kind of person, no use denying that, but _Zurako_ ; Zurako’s a different story altogether -- she’s got a natural aptitude when it comes to matters of the heart. The red dress falls silky and comfortable along his, her, _their_ body as they lean against the wall; it’s almost like a second skin by now, and it’s just a dress but Katsura feels like it really does heighten his female intuition. Zurako can tell, for example, that the Vice-Chief is masking his emotional insecurities by focusing on practical issues, in this situation.

“Fiduciary, my ass! Haven’t you just been spending my money? You philandering good-for-nothing!”

“Oi, oi! Hold it right there Mr Policeman! _Philandering?_ Isn’t that a bit rich coming from someone who spent yesterday with a courtesan?”

Zurako has no trouble discerning the cold in Gintoki’s voice, either; it’s biting at the would-be casualness, and a small pause follows. When the Vice-Chief speaks again, his voice is lower, strained like he’s trying to gather his wits about him. Or courage.

“You keep bringing that up.”

“Yeah? Well, it pisses me off.”

“Why? I coincidentally ran into her and we got a bit drunk, why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“So why--”

“What did you talk about?”

“What..?” 

“You and the drunk terminator. What did you talk about?”

It’s quiet for a beat too long, and neither Katsura nor Zurako have a way of telling what’s being said without words on the other side of the wall, but the tension in the air is palpable either way. It’s eating away at the heavy silence.

“You,” The Vice-Chief is saying at last, his tone adding a resigned, unsaid ‘ _sod it’_ to the admission. “We were talking about _you_. Happy now? Goddamnit.”

As a matter of fact, Gintoki does sound happy. His voice has lost all of its chilly undertones as he replies, a taunt rising along the edge of the usual drawl.

“Yeah? All good things I presume?” 

“We were talking about your natural perm.” 

“Oh. I know these God-given curls give me the air of a dishevelled rock star,” Gintoki says, completely unfazed by the Vice-Chief’s sarcasm. “There’s no shame in finding them irresistible, you know. Everyone does.”

“Don’t count me among your fangirls, Yorozuya. You’re gonna make me barf.”

“Oh, come on, then what?”

A sigh. “Your hopeless tendency of squandering every penny having the misfortune ending up in your hands.”

“And?”

“Your total lack of work ethic and ambition.”

“Yeah?”

“How absolutely unsuited you are to raise a child.”

”Right.”

“How you say… things.”

“Things.” Gintoki repeats dully.

“Yeah, _things._ You say them, and then -- _dammit -_ -“ A poignant fumbling about for words. “You don’t stick to them.”

Katsura is unconsciously holding his breath. For some reason; the small hairs on his arms stand on end as he listens to the Vice-Chief. He’s loud in his silence somehow, the way he’s struggling to maintain his pride is as bewildering to Zurako as it is understandable to Katsura. Or is it the other way around?

“Toushirou,” Gintoki’s voice has dropped low, but the smile is still perceptible in every fall and rise of it. “Could it be that, you were waiting for me?”

“...”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you just say? I would’ve come sooner, or, at least when that bloody gold imposter had been dethroned, I-- hey, what are you doing?”

“What do you think? I don’t have time to stand around listening to your half-assed excuses all day. I have this thing called a job, remember.”

Katsura hears the rustling of fabric like someone’s putting on a jacket.

“Yeah, yeah, unfortunately. It’s pretty damn hard to miss. Also, you’re an arse and I can’t believe I’m about to…” Gintoki’s voice fades away for a moment, like he’s turning, and Katsura has to strain his ears to catch the last part of the sentence. “...a fucking cop.”

Katsura doesn’t have to wonder about the sounds after that; a sharp intake of air, feet shuffling against the tatami mat, a muffled little yelp and the sounds of hands catching and sliding along fabric and quite possibly, skin. _Oh._ It doesn’t strike him that listening in on two people obviously sharing something of a meaningful kiss isn’t entirely appropriate. 

“I’m sorry, alright?”

Heavy breathing.

“Yeah, go fuck yourself. I still have to go.”

“Until when?”

There’s a small pause again, the implication of the Vice-Chief taking a deep breath, and his voice is low and gruff when he finally replies.

“Until you’re ready to cough up the money you owe me. How about that.”

“I don’t-- eeh? Really? Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen you crack a joke, for all I know you could be the type to do it with a straight face like that. Though the blushing is something of a giveaway, I suppose.”

“Don’t make me wait, idiot.”

The next moment, the Vice-Chief comes bustling out of the room, face a deep shade of red and eyes so focused on the exit he doesn’t even notice Katsura as he hastens past him down the corridor.

“Hey, hey! Wait! Oi, Toushirou!” Katsura can see Gintoki’s wide grin, even before the head of silver curls, messier than ever, pops out of the door to peer after the retreating cop. “You can’t drop a line like that and then leave! It’s not fair! Gin-san’s not emotionally ready!”

Gintoki’s grin fades a bit, but not significantly, at the sight of Katsura standing there.

“Oh. Hi Zura,” He mumbles, eyes still tracing the Vice-Chief’s back, until said man has rounded a corner further down the corridor, and is gone. 

“It’s not Zura,” Katsura says, pushing off the wall. “It’s Zurako.”

Gintoki’s face says whatever like nothing else.

“What are you doing here?”

“Work,” Katsura supplies truthfully.

“Work is it,” Gintoki scratches his chin. “I should do some of that myself, I reckon. Got a debt to pay.” 

Perhaps he’s meaning to sound offhand about it, but if so, it’s all in vain, well, because he’s still _smiling,_ isn’t he? Katsura doubts Gintoki is aware of it, but there’s a thing about him one can’t disregard; his light is contagious. It has always been like that. Katsura doesn’t need Zurako’s acute perceptiveness to be able to tell that Gintoki is like the sun today. It’s been a while though -- he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen it since Sensei’s passing. For that reason, he guesses not only Gintoki, but the entire world, seems a great deal brighter this morning -- like it’s taken on a silver lining.

“You have done plenty already, Gintoki,” Katsura clasps his old friend’s shoulder. “I always knew you’d come around eventually, but I never thought you’d go about it this way. I have to admit. I’m impressed.”

Gintoki gives him a dead look.

Katsura goes on: “Between you and me, you couldn't have chosen a better lover.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The Cause, Gintoki. The Cause.” Katsura crosses his arms over his chest, careful not to let Zurako’s smile be heard in his voice. “Getting close to our natural enemy is a strategy I shouldn’t have put past you, I see this now. The Joui will be forever indebted to you and your diligent undercover work. We had almost given up on you, but I guess that’s exactly the right moment to strike, hn? When you’re well and truly written off the records as a threat to the government, that's when you show a samurai’s true dedication.”

“Zura,” says Gintoki. His eyes are calm and earnest, probably only just visible to a stranger; positively _piercing_ to one who has known him since forever. “You understand, right?”

Katsura unfolds his arms to place his hands on Zurako’s slender hips, and gives Gintoki a long look.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“It’s him, then?”

“So it seems.”

“Oh, well,” Katsura sighs, Zurako smiles. “Love is a fickle thing, Gintoki, so in case you change your mind--“

“I won’t.” 

Katsura doesn’t need to say that he knows that. Somehow, the promise he and Gintoki made back then, on the ship -- fighting the Harusume and hatred alike -- just feels as immutable as they are. The sight of Gintoki’s back, walking off down the corridor, one hand raised in a casual sort of ‘ _til next time,_ doesn’t bring about any melancholy today.

If anything, it’s reassuring.

**. . .**

the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥️


End file.
